Black History Month: celebration or performance?

Content warning: Mentions of anti-Black violence.

We are everywhere. We are just ignored until we are deemed valuable, such as for the marketability of schools or companies. Those environments serve society, yet our presence is often used to attain the “diverse” designation. We are ignored until other people recognize that we reside in a disadvantaged space. And when that occurs, they demand justice that they are never willing to bring.

Black History Month, in short, is complicated.

Mainstream celebrations of our history barely scrape the surface of such diverse cultures and peoples. This month has become disconnected from its purpose—not to mention that it’s missing a few days. Black history is made all over the world, but from my experiences being raised in Toronto, the whole month has always been equated to a day. There was a designated date that Black History Month celebrations would fall on, and, on that day, it lasted about an hour at most. My Black History Month experiences were mainly through school (where I was always part of the smallest minority group), and it often felt like a formality as opposed to an important celebration. As a spoken word poet since the age of 12, I felt as though Black History Month was a time where I had to use my art to remind people that they had to treat me right. Why did the education system of a province that prides itself in diversity lack in their Black History Month education and efforts? Why did the celebration of my identity feel like a card in the mail as opposed to a giant carnival? In my opinion, the purpose of this month is to celebrate the history that has been erased and/or lost and to uplift Black voices. This annual reminder is meant to show the world that we are making history through our achievements, and that we always were.

But Black History Month is messy.

There is an ongoing debate about whether enough of our history is included in school curricula. Name five Black historical figures that you were taught about in school. Don’t name Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., or Malcolm X. And don’t get me started on the lack of focus on Black Canadians doing amazing things, both past and present. Our education system’s insufficient efforts to teach students about the different Black people that have had a hand in creating the world we live in today is a serious issue. We can’t use a word as broad as “history” while we keep rereading the same stories. The stories that we know are definitely important, but when we only choose the history books that perpetuate Eurocentrism, we are only getting one perspective of the story: a highly constructed one. As an education student, I am constantly thinking about what age range I would like to teach. Now, I am also considering how I can better the system that I grew up in. Streaming in Ontario secondary schools is an issue that is near and dear to my heart: Black students are constantly being placed into the wrong stream, which cuts them off from the university pathway. I should not have to feel like one of the lucky ones.

Not only is our history misrepresented, but our current lives are as well. When stereotypes are all you ever hear or see, especially as a child, your mentality will be one of the past—even when the truth is one Google search away. I consider myself very lucky to be given parents who told me that I could become anything I wanted. My parents have told me this all of my life, especially along my university journey. If you are not fed a diverse set of options, you will believe that following a stereotype is the only way to be. Versatility is a word that is not allocated to Black people; in the same way that physical stereotypes hold us, we are implicitly and explicitly told that we belong to a certain place in society and our careers. It feels like we are taught not to dream big and to lay low to survive. There’s a sense that we can’t become CEOs, successful artists, prestigious university professors, or prize-winning researchers. Black figures that we see achieving these dreams are presented as “lucky” or a “one-off.” Companies claim that representation matters, but when they post a picture of their workplace with a single Black person, it implies that this person was lucky to make it there. Unbeknownst to you, not every Black person in the company was asked to be in that photo; it was just the person who would “fit the picture best.” The invitation was not an open one. Our world makes everyone—including us—think that we are scarce even when we see each other every other day. People turn us into a token, and then keep playing us in the claw machine of representation, thinking that they are helping instead.

Black Lives Matter received its due media coverage last summer, and as we watched our Instagram feed become black squares for a week, non-Black people continuously exposed themselves over the remaining months of 2020 and into early 2021. I saw people reposting peaceful protest photos on their stories, asking others to be allies, and then asking their followers to like their summer selfie the next day. Black people also became highly sought-after employees all of a sudden, with companies vowing to do their best to combat anti-Blackness and posting Black models for a week before slowly returning to the status quo. Stores created “Black-owned” sections as if they were new, exotic, international aisles. People flocked to Black authors to see if they could answer all the questions they had while ignoring the microaggressions that they love to repeat. Our experiences are not meant to be your self-help book. We are writing our history in case no one else ever will so our lives won’t be reduced to a headline. From a social media perspective overall, everyone seemed to turn their heads from the protests rather quickly, while people were arrested, assaulted, and killed. Just because you can stop posting black squares doesn’t mean that I stop being Black.

We have all been cultivated in a society that transforms Black lives into a public relations checkbox, a business’ cherry-on-top of their new brochure, a ploy to a consumer. Non-Black people have been fed into thinking that supporting Black people is just acknowledging that we exist. Acknowledging has become the new way to ignore Black people and our experiences. Allyship has turned into a meaningless obstacle course; from claiming that you love Kendrick Lamar and his message, to reinforcing microaggressions such as stating “they are so articulate” when a Black person speaks. If you’re an ally, you’re not expected to understand everything we go through, and we are not asking you to be one of us. When Black people ask for support, we are not asking for sympathy; we are asking for a platform to be at the same level as our non-Black peers. Black History Month is a celebration for us, but it’s been turned into an inconvenience, a distraction from what’s deemed important in our society by non-Black people. If you’re confused about us asking to be given the chance to be at the same level as you, remember that we ended up with the shortest month of the year. And then, in the blink of an eye, people don’t want to take pictures of us anymore. Our melanin is no longer of use, our smiles are no longer necessary, our positions are no longer photographed.

Don’t we deserve any thought or support or compensation?

If you are a non-Black ally, I hope you don’t expect validation. You’re in a bad place already if you do. You’re performative, and in no way am I trying to assassinate your character. You don’t need to be racist to be performative.  You can do your best to help but still end up on the wrong side. You need to figure out how to make your support remain genuine. Support a Black-owned business, not by reposting their Instagram story and moving on with your life, but by purchasing a product that you already want, just from their business instead. Find something that you like, ship it to your home or grab it from curbside pickup. And don’t allow your guilt to block you from doing what is right. It can feel hard to talk to people about issues such as racism, especially if you’re white. Everyone is aware that Black people are at the lowest societal level, but trying to educate yourself—mainly through Google, not your Black peers—is a step in the right direction. Taking the time to examine how your actions feed into disadvantages for others will allow you to understand how to be a better person.

If you identify as a Black person, it’s our month again. Despite this, we won’t forget that life will continue in a similar fashion as before. Please take care of yourselves and your mental health while you take the time to polish your Blackness. Your Blackness is not defined by a checklist of stereotypes or extravagant expectations that we constantly think about and/or play into. You’re Black already, don’t allow yourself to question that too. We’re not off the hook, by the way—we have to support each other too! Take responsibility for how you treat yourself and others in the Black community because we can contribute to the problem. We can be racist and hateful to each other. Racism includes colourism: an issue that is entrenched in our community. We cannot condemn others without evaluating ourselves—do not let complaining about injustice be the only way that you connect to your Blackness. You are robbing yourself at this point if you do.

And now, we come to the question: What does it mean to celebrate Black History Month in 2021? Being safe is the first thing that should be done. Celebrate from the safety of your homes and uplift the Black community. Once March 2021 rolls around, continue to uplift us. After the events of 2020, I hope that non-Black communities understand that our lives are at stake more than ever, so taking care of each other is what we need to do right now. For Black people, we need to remember that existing is not all that we do. We need to celebrate and mean it.

For future Black History Months, which can hopefully consist of in-person celebrations, please listen to Black stories you have never heard. We are all different, we all have different lives, we all have different stories.