Being Black During Black History Month

I have no recollection of Black History Month celebrations from when I was in grade school. I remember having a mini-lesson about MLK, Jr., Rosa Parks, and a dabble of Malcolm X, but I never experienced the part where people celebrated being Black. 

I wasn’t fully educated on Black history and Black literature until I took a few classes here at Arcadia, and I find that to be a tragic story, especially as a Black woman in my 20s. My sister and I, just a few weeks into the protests of 2020, drew this in our driveway to remind people in our area to vote. Our parents, for our safety, told us to wash it away. Being Black in general is all about safety sometimes, so we forget to celebrate. 

The world wants Black History Month to be celebratory, they want it to be a moment of education for non-Black people—but what about how Black people feel? How do we survive the shortest month of the year without being exhausted of the turmoil that comes with being in our skin? It feels like there’s been a drastic shift in how the U.S. celebrates Black History Month this year, and it’s been heavily influenced by the voices of Black people and the ever-growing loss of Black lives. 

Conversations around Black people and Black labels always land us in the term, “African-American.” As Black people, it’s sometimes very difficult for us to know and love our culture because many of us do not know our roots. Sanaa Scott-Wheeler ’24 expressed that they are trying to stop looking at blackness as part of African culture because it’s not something that we know: “A while ago, I stopped associating blackness with Africa because I feel like African-American culture is a culture within itself. It wasn’t derived from anywhere, it was completely derived by people who came here with nothing.” 

I’ve personally never felt fond of the term “African-American” because the African diaspora is almost impossible to track because it’s so vast. As much as I want to know, you also have to account for where to start. 

Since 2020, I’ve found myself in spaces where people look to me to speak about my Black experiences because there’s been a significant shift in recognizing the silencing of Black voices. In that case, specifically this month, putting that pressure on Black people to talk about their views, their experiences, and their struggles is almost backward. Olutobi Tella ’22 says he’s felt that same pressure here in Arcadia’s spaces: “As an English major, I feel privileged to have read a lot of literature dealing with race. But even as a Black voice is being heard, it puts on a lot of pressure on us to give the socially acceptable answer, if your voice is acknowledged at all. It creates a weird cognitive dissonance that makes you both overvalue and distrust your own opinions as just one person, rather than a whole community.” 

It is a fact that Arcadia is a predominantly white institution (PWI), but it is also a fact that Arcadia is a liberal arts university. We can preach diversity and anti-racism to the rooftops, but it all comes down to the actual effort that’s put in and the reaction of the student population. It comes down to if the efforts are feeling mutual on our side, so I asked students not only how it feels being Black during BHM, but how it has felt on Arcadia’s campus thus far. 

Oshane Mendez ’23, president of the Black Awareness Society (BAS), feels strongly that Arcadia could be doing more: “Coming from a high school where showing appreciation for Black lives and Black history [was] expressing ourselves through art, music, etc., it feels like here at Arcadia it’s more about telling the history and not showing it. As the president of BAS, I feel like the only Black History Month events like this that have been held have been organized by our group alone.” 

Destiny DeShields ’22 agrees that [Black] students are relied on heavily to do this work: “When a lot of pressure is placed onto these organizations on campus, it creates an adverse effect. Instead of it being about celebrating Black History, it becomes our job as affinity club leaders to create an event because no one else will create one effective enough.” 

It is true that to accurately represent and appreciate a culture, you’d want those who are part of that culture to accurately represent the kinds of events and structures that they’re looking to share with our community, and to bond with others in the Black community. I asked my peers what they associate with Black culture in America and how they celebrate their blackness. Scott-Wheeler said, “Black culture to me is cookouts, fashion, music, and being ourselves in our day-to-day life. Black people need to be reminded how beautiful and amazing our culture is.” 

Tella believes that “even though our connection has been severed from African ancestry,” here in America, we’ve been able to create our own Black culture—and he loves it. 

At Arcadia, I do feel like there has been some shift in the right direction. We have introduced Anti-Black Racism Initiatives (ABRI) framework, diversity trainings, an Access & Equity Office, and more things continue to be adjusted in this anti-racist work. It all comes down to the execution, and I hope the thoughts and the minds of the student population continue to be at the forefront of all decision making, and how we celebrate our diversity.

But people have to realize that this month is difficult for some, just like any month or week dedicated to marginalized groups in this country can be difficult. The pressure and the remembrance of lives lost and the sacrifices that were made is hard, but in these moments of hardship, we have to look to celebration. I didn’t always celebrate my blackness because I didn’t really know how, but it comes down to educating yourself, being yourself at all times, hanging out with the people that feel like home, and continuing to populate spaces where those uncomfortable conversations need to happen. 

My peers reminded me that our blackness belongs to us no matter where we come from, and where we go from here. So we’re going to keep being loud, keep blasting hip hop—we’re going to continue on the journey of undeniably loving the skin that we’re in.