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Driving home from school one day, my then eight-year-old son asked with a hint of condemnation, “Why are homeless people always Black men?”
My heart sank.
While my head raced to find an age-appropriate, succinct way to unpack the insidious cocktail of contributing factors for the overrepresentation he witnessed: racism, mental health crises, insufficient veterans support, generational poverty, pay disparity, mass incarceration, Atlanta demographics and more, my heart just didn’t want him to start equating Black men with poverty and struggle. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to know that that type of mental association could certainly be toxic for his self-esteem and self-image.
While I pushed back on his hyperbole while desperately trying to connect the dots between generational oppression and modern day disparities, I pulled into the driveway well aware that no 10-minute-ride-home explanation would unwind the stereotypical biases being stamped into his psyche as a result of simply living in a post-apartheid society, one arguably in denial at that. That one innocent question suggested that as a soon-to-be young Black man, he’d already been ingesting the poison of white supremacy and buying into insidious anti-Black stereotypes.
Arguably, as the Tyre Nichols tragedy illustrated, you don’t have to be white to uphold white supremacy. Many Black and brown people too buy into dangerous racial stereotypes, quite understandably, as we too live in a society defined by centuries of racial hierarchy and more recently marked by denial, deflection and desperately needed reconciliation.
In 1954 when the landmark Brown v. Board of Education Supreme Court ruling deemed school segregation unconstitutional, it was Drs. Kenneth and Mamie Clarks’ famous doll test that helped convince the justices that segregation was inherently harmful, not only because the white children more frequently associated white images with positive traits (prettier, smarter, nicer) and Black images with negative traits, but also because the Black children were also making these esteem-eroding associations. This famous test helped illustrate that anti-Black bias permeated Black belief systems as well.
Dr. Ibram X. Kendi recently explored this issue (within the context of the AP African American studies controversy) during a recent The Atlantic interview and essay featuring Harvard education historian Dr. Jarvis R. Givens. Referencing Carter G. Woodson’s The Miseducation of the Negro, Givens says, “The book argued that Black children learn to despise themselves—just as non-Black people learn to hate Black people—when Black history is not taught.” Referencing students, Givens insists, “They must be given an opportunity to know themselves and the world on new terms. To deny Black students the opportunity to critically study Black life and culture is to deny them the opportunity to think outside of the racial myths that are deeply embedded in the American curriculum.”
Considering one of Woodson’s most famous quotes—“If you can control a man’s thinking you do not have to worry about his action.”—Givens shares his interpretation. “He’s naming how Black people can become so thoroughly miseducated that they become enlisted into the anti-Black protocols that have structured the world that we live in. This quote, for me, is very important for our reflections on Memphis and the violent death of Tyre Nichols.”
To state the obvious, children aren’t the only ones who are susceptible to anti-Black stereotypes. We all are—young, old, Black, white and brown—and history can be a powerful weapon to fight those dangerous stereotypes.
While it’s critically important for K-12 schools in particular to use BHM as an opportunity to continue to educate students about the African American experience, corporations—particularly those who emphatically claim a commitment to antiracism—should do much more if they’re serious about creating workplace equity and supporting racial justice more broadly. For those companies that in the summer of 2020 pledged their unwavering commitment to antiracism, they should be using Black History Month (BHM) (and every month) as an opportunity to seriously lean into antiracism progress, not relying on simplistic, inconsequential Black history programming that misses the mark by a mile. It doesn’t just miss the mark; it arguably reveals a lack of seriousness and authenticity, as obvious as a signal flare to its Black employees.
In contrast, companies seriously invested in antiracism should be curating and investing in programming that is elevated, anti-racism focused and purpose driven. One might ask—what’s the difference between the two approaches?
Simplistic BHM programming leaves attendees better understanding “who” and “what,” but elevated programming leaves them also understanding “why” and “how.”
Simplistic programming focuses on basic education and covers topics like:
- Who were Rosa Parks and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and what did they do?
- Who were some prominent Black inventors and scientists?
- What were the elements of civil rights legislation passed in the 1960s?
- Who have been some of the most prominent Black leaders in the past few decades?
Elevated antiracist focused programming would celebrate these prideful achievements but also focus on analysis and action planning intended to create equity. Sample topics might include the following:
- How did the trans-Atlantic slave trade impact Black achievement and excellence? What does Black history look like before the trans-Atlantic slave trade?
- Why is the median wealth of Black households less than 15% that of white households?
- Why do most major cities still have largely segregated neighborhoods/sections of town?
- Why is the United States the world’s leader in incarceration and what has been the impact?
- Why are maternal mortality rates as high for the highest income Black women as the lowest income white women?
- At the time of Ketanji Brown Jackson’s confirmation white men (representing approximately 30% of the population) had comprised 94% of Supreme Court justices over the 233-year history of the court? Why have white men been so overrepresented on our highest legal court and how may that have shaped our justice system, public policy and societal narratives?
- Why has a Black woman never been elected governor in any state in America? What message does that send about who society views as leaders?
- At the close of 2022 why were there only six Black Fortune 500 CEOs in 2022 (a record high)? What impact does that have on corporate cultures, hiring processes and representation, equity and inclusion initiatives, etc.
These more elevated, nuanced questions don’t just require a sophisticated analysis of the past. They connect the dots between the past and present, making Black history not merely nostalgic but powerfully relevant today. The latter topics directly combat toxic racial stereotypes and have the power to begin pecking away at long-standing biases that are as ubiquitous and insidious as they are unconscious.
Black history doesn’t just function to educate white people. It’s a powerful tool to uplift Black people as well. Black history helps explain the blatant racial disparities that children will easily call out while adults may pretend don’t exist. Black history helps explain why a Black woman being elected to Congress from Virginia is breaking news….in 2023, not 1923.
Like all parents I want the best for my kids. I don’t consider it an overstatement to acknowledge that my son’s potential is inextricably linked to his self-image as an individual and also as a Black man in the making. While he lives a very comfortable lifestyle and is surrounded by professionally degreed high achievers, none of that insulates him from the reality of living in a post-apartheid society defined by anti-Blackness.
I’d be a fool to try to pretend that the glaring racial disparities he sees every day aren’t real so instead I must give him context. I can’t argue with the outcomes so I must focus on explaining the reasons. Black history provides the context to maintain and bolster his self-esteem. Black history gives him a sense of pride at the miraculous achievements of his people. It defines Black people as warriors relentlessly protesting to demand dignity and equality amid a system designed to provide neither.
“You know, for so long, you could read the entire history of slavery and never know that Black people resisted, that they led rebellions, that they formed Maroon communities. Students could walk away thinking that slavery was just this benevolent institution, that Black people had to work hard but they benefited from being immersed in the West and the Christian world,” Givens explains in The Atlantic article. “They made all these beautiful songs and sang all these Negro spirituals. This is evidence that they were happy. The absence of narratives about Black people fighting back presents them as these apolitical subjects. It strips them of their agency.”
While accurate history recounts the sheer brilliance and fortitude of Black people, it doesn’t paint a fairy tale. In many ways, the story is a horrific nightmare resulting in stark, conspicuous racial disparities and achievement gaps, and that is where historical context is critically important in helping my son understand that his ancestors weren’t failures. They were victims.
