When I was younger, I honestly didn’t think that much about Black History Month. I remember mostly watching BET marathons as a kid of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Family Matters or The Game and catching the last 20 minutes of Love & Basketball because I always missed the beginning. Or even every other show’s “special” episode that talks about black history month. A personal favorite being the one from The Proud Family.
Outside of my home, I saw it as just another month that we set aside to talk about historical figures. Each year we spent time talking about the same people that it almost lost its true effect on me as a child. I knew it was important because we were learning about it. I only took in the educational aspect of it without taking in the gravity of the societal impact.
It took until college for me to really see the error of the education system. Professors are more blunt and forthcoming with their information. They will tell you how it is regardless of how it makes you feel. The overall impact of being shown the truth can correct years of nitpicking safe facts to fit the theme. I’m more so mad at myself for not realizing it sooner.
I realized more of the importance of Black History Month as soon as I got to Oswego. I knew going to a predominately white school was going to be a bit of culture shock for me but I wanted to challenge myself. The world doesn’t look exactly like where I grew up. For all of my life, I lived in a town where the majority of people are those from marginalized groups. Diversity was something I grew up with because that’s what was all around. People still looked the same as you and you were able to befriend others who grew up in different backgrounds and accept them as is. You can imagine my surprise when I saw that the population resembled the snowy environment more than the spectrum of color I was used to. Or when I felt hate because of my outside appearance and not my personality.
Going to Oswego made me feel uncomfortable in the ways I knew the world was going to. I needed a trial run to see how I would react to it, and I kind of forgot that people would also be reacting to me as well. This was a power dynamic I wasn’t ready to be a part of but I needed to know where I stood. Being a black woman, living despite the disadvantages American society has put us through for centuries has shown that we are a powerful group. Why else would we need to be oppressed so badly if there was nothing to fear? It shows that we shouldn’t give up and neither should I.
In hindsight, turns out watching all those show reruns really did do much more than younger me was crediting them for. Seeing black people in spaces that were usually only occupied by white people is groundbreaking. It shows that we are no longer limited in places where we used to be confined. Television shows really helped shape my identity as a black person for the better. There isn’t just “one” type of black person, there are many. We can fulfill just as many roles as white people can and bring it to a whole new light.
Yeah, it’s cool we got those nice Snapchat filters that say ‘Black Girl Magic’ and ‘Black Boy Joy’ but it’s so much deeper than that. Black History lives in me and every black person before and after me. It should be celebrated every day, not just in February. Our representation and sense of self are no longer in the dark. But that doesn’t mean I won’t pass up on another throwback show marathon either.
How long is Black History Month? Not long enough.