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Posts Tagged ‘Black History Month’

A year ago I fancied myself moving the cause of racial reconciliation forward by suggesting that it was time that we phase out Black History Month. Remember that? Well, I return to you in 2011, humbled, chastened, and a little less hopeful than I was 12 months ago.

Here’s the thing: I still think genuine racial reconciliation would mean that we eventually move away from Black History Month as a remedy to cultural ignorance and the lingering effects of America’s racist past and that we’d fold its celebration into the everyday fabric of our national culture. Though I think this has been happening in our society to an extent, in my cognitive slowness it has become clear to me over the past several months that to retire Black History Month (or any other cultural awareness month) at this point would run the risk of wiping out any progress in cross-cultural understanding that we’ve managed over the past 85 years since Carter G. Woodson introduced the concept to the nation. (For some great trivia about the history of Black History Month, check out this article.)

So, why am I repenting and backtracking from my position of a year ago? Well, to put it bluntly, I get the feeling that certain folks have identified our nation’s “inconvenient” parts of history as key hurdles to advancing their own political and ideological agendas, so as a result they’ve decided (whether intentionally or subconsciously) to erase, ignore, or conveniently forget that history.

What am I talking about? Well, last month I blogged about that other Arizona law, the one that targets ethnic studies programs in schools. Proponents of this new law have labeled ethnic awareness programs as “propagandizing and brainwashing” students and stoking resentment against white people. In other words, teaching young Latinos, Native Americans, Asian Americans, and African Americans about the history of their people in this country runs the risk of stirring up too many unpleasant moments from the past. Better to just not talk about it and focus on those things that the majority culture deems legitimate American history. I apologize if my cynicism is creeping through here, but the point is, the Arizona case is an extreme example of the fear and suspicion that a non-white perspective on history elicits from some white people (another example might be the white vs. black interpretations of the infamous Jermiah Wright sermon).

Then there are the instances of prominent white pundits and polticians playing loose with the basic facts of American history. Glenn Beck’s desire to out Martin Luther King Jr. as a Tea Party sympathizer and “reclaim the civil rights movement” as some sort of conservative political phenomenon was eloquently rebutted by columnist Leonard Pitts. And Republican congresswoman Michele Bachmann’s suggestion during a speech in January that the Founding Fathers worked to end slavery left even some conservatives scratching their heads. And who can forget Mississippi Governor Haley Barbour’s romanticized memories of the civil rights era during his youth in the Deep South? Then there was that odd bit of political theater with the incoming, Republican-led Congress’ public reading of the U.S. Constitution in January that seemed to be the GOP’s symbolic way of reminding America that they are the true keepers of the Constitution as it was written. However, as columnist Clarence Page pointed out, their decision to leave out certain passages could lead one to wonder how committed to the original document they really are. He wrote:

Making good on a campaign promise, the Republican-dominated 112th House of Representatives opened with a reading of the Constitution. But the leaders copped out of reading some of the most thought-provoking parts.

They decided to read only the Constitution-as-amended. That means they left out parts of which we in today’s America are not so proud — like the clause in Article I that declared slaves would be counted for purposes of reapportionment as only three-fifths of a person.

Seems like a reasonable detail to include if one is determined to stay as true as possible to the Founders’ original intent. But I digress. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting that we need to hold on to all of this history for purposes of harboring grudges or waving it before white Americans as proof of their enduring racism. While some activists make a good living off of that, I think that’s just as bad as attempting to revise or forget the history that doesn’t line up with the way we think America ought to be viewed. No, the more important reason that we should continue to practice racial and ethnic awareness with all intentionality is that it keeps us accountable.  If we’re honest with it, it will guard us against repeating those previous sins and misdeeds against our brothers and sisters, and perhaps help us, as Dr. King said, “to rise up and live out the full meaning of our nation’s creed: that all men are created equal.” 

Perhaps the most compelling reason for remembering and rehearsing the difficult aspects of our history is because that’s the stuff—the failures and contradictions, along with the courage and compassion—that makes us truly American.     

“American history is longer, larger, more various, more beautiful, and more terrible than anything anyone has ever said about it,” said James Baldwin in his brilliant 1963 essay, “A Talk to Teachers.” Until we grasp more fully what he meant, I think we’ll continue to need an annual reminder.

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I’ve kind of avoided the topic of Black History Month this year until now, almost the end of the month. The reason is, I’ve been kicking around in my mind this notion of “Black History Month Syndrome.” Now, stay with me a minute.

What is Black History Month Syndrome? I’ll define it roughly as “the national, institutional, or personal tendency to reduce the value of racial, ethnic, or cultural awareness and celebration to a designated day, week, or month of the year.” That is, we do our annual observance of the thing for that set period of time, and then we don’t think about it seriously again until that same time next year. This could pertain to our current national Black History Month in general, or any similar type of annual heritage observance. Think of the annual Diversity Sunday at your church, or the great PBS documentaries on race that you have be on the lookout for during that elusive 28-day window in February, or that special issue of Time, Newsweek, or Christianity Today that trots out the usual ethnic or female voices for the annual “special issue” on African Americans or Asians or Hispanics or women.

When I was with Christianity Today, I often felt conflicted about this phenomenon. On the one hand, I rejoiced at the idea of being able to profile a significant nonwhite figure or highlight dynamic things happening in other parts of the church besides the white evangelical majority. However, on the other hand, I disliked the idea that we could only do it in a significant way usually one issue per year. I always felt our ethnic, nonwhite, and female readers could see right through our shtick. They knew we were just paying our annual homage to diversity and that it wasn’t a real living and breathing part of who we were. My argument always was that we should strive to incorporate those diverse voices into the magazine on a more regular basis, not just in annual splashes. We needed to let nonwhite and female readers know that they were a valued part of the evangelical community and not just some exotic oddity that we turned the spotlight on once or twice a year. (To its credit, I think CT does a better job nowadays of being more diverse and multicultural year-round, though I know some critics would still beg to differ.)

Over the years, I’ve struggled mightily with this phenomenon. While I appreciate Black History Month (as well as Hispanic Heritage Month, Asian/Pacific American Heritage Month, Native American Heritage Month, and Women’s History Month) and value the opportunity to highlight special achievements and honor an important part of our national history, I also long for a time when we’ll no longer have to consign the recognition of that history to a particular week, month, or magazine issue.

That brings me to my main reason for doing this post. I’ve been kicking around this theme of “the myth of post-racial America” for a possible book project, and as part of that I’ve entertained the admittedly outrageous (and possibly heretical) idea that perhaps we should set an actual date in the distant future for the official dissolution of Black History Month, sort of like President Obama setting a withdrawal timetable for our troops in Iraq. For instance, let’s say we resolve that in 2020 we’ll officially discontinue all celebrations of specific heritage months (African American, Hispanic, Polish, etc.) and begin to incorporate a recognition and appreciation of those various heritages into the regular and daily flow of our national calendar and lives. This will mean that we study black history and American Indian history and Hispanic history regularly in our school curricula, that on July 4th we include Native American, black, Hispanic, and Asian historical figures in the mix along with the other great American patriots that we commemorate on Independence Day. (This may also necessitate an immediate abolishment of Kwanzaa and a renewed national effort to remind Americans that Christ did not enter the world as a blonde, blue-eyed European infant.) 

Alright, I know I’m sounding loony now. But my point is, when does it end? Will we always need Black History Month-type observances? Does authentic racial and cultural reconciliation in our country require that we observe our various annual heritage events in perpetuity? Or would true progress in reconciliation suggest that as a church or community or nation we should decide that, at some point down the road, we’ll need to grow out of the necessity of our Black History Months and move on toward a more natural and genuine embrace of the diversity of our nation?

I understand that part of the reasoning behind these various heritage months is that the United States has not always been kind to those on the margins of society. The full benefits of citizenship were not always available to those of a certain race or gender. And to this day, the majority culture still tends to divide the nation based on what it has historically deemed to be the “real Americans.” Therefore, we’ve needed to designate a special time to acknowledge, teach, honor, and celebrate the value and contributions of those groups that have been forgotten, oppressed, or systematically excluded from the national canon of history. But does our nation’s sinful and dysfunctional record on matters of race and diversity mean that we will always need to manufacture these annual days and weeks and months as a reminder of what we’re really supposed to be—as a nation and as human beings?

The apostle Paul said, “For we now know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways” (1 Cor. 9-12). Might this principle of “growing up” also apply to our annual heritage celebrations and observances?

A few years ago, a friend of mine told me a story that has stuck with me ever since. My friend, who is white, is a strong believer in racial reconciliation and justice ministries. A talented musician, he leads a multiracial community gospel choir. He shared an experience that he had as a seminary student interning at an African American church. Leading special music during a Black History Month program at the church, he introduced a song by saying, “This month we celebrate Black History, but our prayer is that, one day, we will no longer have a need for a special month like this.” His point, of course, was that ideally someday our nation would progress to the place where a special heritage month was no longer the only time that we would acknowledge and value the importance of black history. However, in an awkward moment, the pastor pulled him aside after the service and politely advised him, “Don’t ever say something like that again.” My friend was very apologetic, and after a brief moment he was able to recognize why what he said was problematic. For that black church leader, the suggestion that we should strive toward no longer needing a Black History Month was tantamount to saying we should work to get rid of Christmas or Easter.

That pastor’s reaction leads me back to my original concern. The question again: If Black History Month and our other annual cultural heritage observances are really accomplishing what they’re intended to, wouldn’t it be reasonable to expect that the day will come when we will no longer need them?

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