The Importance of Black History: Reclaiming Our Power, Reshaping Our Future

Understanding the Significance of Black History

In a country where Black people are often treated as the enemy by default, the importance of Black History cannot be overstated. Black Americans are bombarded with messages—from schools, media, and institutions—that suggest they are less than, unworthy, and that they have no future. This is not just painful—it’s intentional. It's a systemic campaign to erase the brilliance, power, and contributions of an entire people.

From the moment a Black child is born in America, they enter a world that has already decided what their narrative should be. Before they can walk or talk, the media has already written their storyline: criminal, dropout, athlete, entertainer—rarely scientist, rarely CEO, rarely president. From cartoons to textbooks, from classrooms to courthouses, quiet but powerful conditioning begins. It tells them that their skin is a problem, that their history is either shameful or irrelevant, and that their future has already been decided for them.

This is not by accident. This is by design. The erasure and distortion of Black history serve a specific purpose—to maintain control.

The Consequences of Distorted History

If a people don’t know where they come from, it is easier to manipulate where they’re going. If you convince a group that they have contributed nothing to civilization, they won’t fight for their place in it. If you flood their history books with other people’s triumphs, while burying or omitting their own, they will struggle to find pride, let alone power.

The system is rigged in layers. On one hand, you have the overt messaging: stereotypes, biased news reports, and insidious cultural appropriation. But there’s something even more insidious at play: silence. The silence in classrooms during lessons on the Renaissance or the Industrial Revolution—where Black inventors, entrepreneurs, and artists are erased. The silence when it comes to the African kingdoms that predated European empires. The silence when students ask where they truly come from and are handed a story that begins in chains.

This silence is violence.

Black History breaks that silence. It is resistance and truth-telling. It is a lifeline in a sea of misinformation and manipulation.

The Role of Black History in Shaping Identity

Black History gives context to the present and hope for the future. It reminds Black people that they are not the problem—they are the answer. They are not broken—they are surviving in a country that has tried every way imaginable to break them. Black History is the act of remembering in a world that constantly asks us to forget. Forget the pain. Forget the injustice. Forget the brilliance. Forget the names that built this country but were never written in its pages.

But we do remember. We remember the songs sung in the fields. We remember the hands that built the White House. We remember the blood, sweat, intellect, and resilience that run through our veins. And we know that to remember is to reclaim.

That is why we fight for Black History to be taught, celebrated, protected, and preserved—not just in February, not just in classrooms, but in every space where our voices have been silenced and our stories have been hidden.

Because when you teach a child who they truly are, you change the trajectory of their entire life. You give them armor against a world that would rather see them broken. You give them the audacity to rise.

The Dred Scott Decision and the 3/5 Clause

To understand where this erasure began, we must look at the foundation of American law. The Dred Scott v. Sandford decision of 1857 was a ruling by the U.S. Supreme Court that has been labeled one of the most shameful decisions in the nation's legal history. The court ruled that African Americans, whether enslaved or free, could not be American citizens and therefore had no legal standing to sue in federal court.

This decision didn't just affect one man’s case—it was a direct message to every Black person in America: you have no rights this country is bound to respect.

Dred Scott was a Black man enslaved in Missouri. He was later taken by his enslaver to live in Illinois and the Wisconsin Territory—places where slavery was prohibited. Scott sued for his freedom, arguing that by living in free territories, he had legally become a free man. The case climbed all the way to the Supreme Court. But instead of recognizing the legality of his freedom, the Court used his case to make a declaration about the status of all Black people in America.

Chief Justice Roger B. Taney, delivering the majority opinion, stated that people of African descent were not included under the word “citizens” in the Constitution, and thus could not claim any of the rights and privileges granted to American citizens. According to this decision, Black people were property—not human beings, not full persons under the law.

This decision was not only dehumanizing—it was strategic. It reinforced the racial caste system that underpinned slavery and racial discrimination in America. It told slaveholders that their ownership was protected, even across state lines. It told abolitionists that the law would not side with justice.

The Three-Fifths Compromise—crafted during the 1787 Constitutional Convention—was another example. Southern states wanted enslaved populations counted to boost their representation in Congress without giving them rights or freedom. So they struck a deal: each enslaved person would count as three-fifths of a person for purposes of representation.

Let that sink in: the very foundation of American democracy was built on the idea that Black people were not whole, not citizens, not even people in full.

The Effects of Historical Legislation

This compromise gave slaveholding states disproportionate power in Congress, entrenching slavery deeper into the fabric of the nation. It codified into law that Black lives were not just less valuable—they were a political tool, a number to be moved around for power.

The echoes of these rulings and compromises still influence us today. Even as laws have changed and slavery has been officially abolished, the core messages have been passed down through generations—not just in legislation, but in the collective mindset of America. These legal choices evolved, shaping how institutions operate, how banks lend, how schools teach, and how the justice system punishes.

We must stop thinking of the Dred Scott decision and the Three-Fifths Clause as ancient history. They are not just remnants of a distant past. They are the blueprint of the present. Their spirit lives on in voter suppression laws, redlining maps, discriminatory hiring practices, and the widespread belief that Black pain is negotiable but Black excellence exceptional.

This is the root of systemic racism: not individual hate, but institutional dehumanization. And while some may argue that we've made progress, progress without acknowledgment is merely polished oppression.

Until we confront the legal and ideological foundations of this nation, we will never truly address the inequality that persists. And that confrontation starts with knowing the truth—our truth.

A Counter-Narrative: Black History

Black history tells a different story.

In a world that constantly tries to write us out of the narrative—or worse, cast us only in roles of failure and dysfunction—Black history is the truth-teller. It steps in where mainstream education falls silent. It corrects the lies. It replaces stereotypes with reality. It shines light in the dark.

Black history reminds us that we are not what the media portrays. We are not the thugs, gangsters, or addicts they love to show on television. We are not the background characters in someone else's story. We are architects of culture, originators of rhythm, and the heartbeat of innovation.

We are doctors who have revolutionized medicine, like Dr. Charles Drew. We are engineers who have defied gravity, exemplified by Mary Jackson, a Black woman engineer at NASA. We are teachers who educate, scientists who innovate, artists who paint with soul, and writers who bend language into liberation.

We are adventurers, exemplified by Bessie Coleman, the first African American woman to hold a pilot’s license. We are entrepreneurs who’ve built businesses against all odds—like Madam C.J. Walker, America’s first self-made female millionaire. We are architects who design buildings that stand tall, attorneys who change the course of justice, and fashion designers whose creativity rivals the best.

Our story doesn’t start in 1619 on a slave ship or on a plantation. It doesn’t begin with suffering. It begins with kingdoms and dynasties, from civilizations that thrived long before European colonization. Many had mathematics, medicine, astronomy, architecture, and agriculture while others were still discovering fire. Our ancestors built pyramids that still confound modern science and created systems of spirituality and society rooted in balance, family, and truth.

The Riches of Africa

Africa is not a country. It is a continent, vast and diverse, made up of over 50 independent nations, each with unique languages, customs, and histories.

Africa is not a land of lack—it is a land of abundance. Abundance in people, beauty, culture, and natural resources. While mainstream media often focuses on conflict and poverty, it ignores Africa's role as one of the most resource-rich regions on the planet.

Africa houses:

• Gold, abundant in South Africa, which helped build empires.

• Diamonds, plentiful in Botswana and the DRC, that drive international markets.

• Cobalt, essential for modern tech, primarily found in the DRC.

• Platinum Group Metals (PGMs) crucial for manufacturing.

• Uranium, vital for nuclear energy.

• Bauxite, used to produce aluminum, primarily exported from Guinea.

  
  

This very richness has drawn colonizers, corporations, and corrupt leaders who’ve stripped the land—not to empower Africa but to feed foreign economies and agendas. This contradiction is not accidental. It is by design.

Beyond minerals, Africa is rich in culture, intellect, and innovation. It is the birthplace of humanity. The cradle of civilization. A place of rhythm, resilience, and ancient wisdom.

Africa is rich. And until that is acknowledged—by the world and by us—it will always pose a disconnect between our origin and opportunity.

Why this Matters to Black Americans

Black history reconnects African Americans to their worth.

It reminds us that we come from more than chains, stereotypes, or survival. It offers an identity beyond what this country has taught us to believe. Black history counters the narrative that we are inherently dangerous, lazy, or unworthy. It tells us we are powerful and essential. It provides names, dates, stories, inventions, and legacies that allow us to see ourselves reflected in victory, not just pain.

For generations, many Black Americans have internalized the belief that they are a problem. Schools barely touch on Black achievements and omit entire decades of progress. So, Black youth grow up unaware of their lineage—of people who built nations, discovered elements, fought wars, cured diseases, and changed the course of history.

Black history interrupts that script.

It asserts, “No, you’re not less than. You’ve always been more.” Representation matters and not just in textbooks. We need more portrayals of Black joy, love, and success that don't hinge on trauma.

When young people see characters who look like them leading without trauma at the center of the narrative, they feel validated. Black history gives them permission to dream bigger, do better, and be more.

When you teach a child that their people invented the traffic light and developed life-saving blood transfusion methods, you ignite ambition in them.

Employment Discrimination and Economic Oppression

Let’s talk about jobs.

Imagine applying for hundreds of positions, only to receive silence—not because you're unqualified, but because your resume reveals too much. Because your name “sounds Black.” Because your experiences are tied to historically Black schools or community programs. Because the hiring manager doesn’t see value in your background.

Employment discrimination is real. It can be subtle—sometimes it’s a rejection email that says, “We’ve decided to go in a different direction.” Or the promotion that never comes, despite your efforts. This country pretends that jobs are awarded purely by merit, yet if merit were truly the measure, Black people wouldn’t remain at the bottom of the economic ladder.

The truth—opportunity is not equal. And when jobs are inaccessible, how do you provide for your family? Some may turn to crime—not out of desire to harm, but out of desperation.

Others, like me, find creative solutions. I once held a sign reading, “Single mom in desperate need of help.” I did this not because I lack education or drive, but because the system slammed the door on opportunities. I’ve been the person with all the right skills and none of the access. My worth was questioned based not on my resume but my race, motherhood, and truth.

Economic oppression is not just about poverty. It deliberately keeps Black people struggling. From redlining to underfunded schools, discrimination to wage gaps—this is structural. Even entrepreneurship is fraught; Black businesses receive only a tiny fraction of venture capital.

People love Black culture—music, fashion, slang—but refuse to support Black ownership. This hypocrisy is economic warfare. The cycle repeats: Black people marginalized, told to pull themselves up by the bootstraps, while the bootstraps are cut off at the source.

Every time a job is denied or a shop replaced, it's a form of economic violence. We need to name it—because economic oppression limits not just wealth, but hope and legacy.

Equity vs. Equality

People love to claim, "We treat everyone equally." It sounds noble, but equality without equity is a lie. It assumes we all start from the same point on the track.

Imagine two homeless people entering a shelter. One is white, carrying bags filled with resources from a nonprofit. The other is Black, with nothing but the clothes on his back. If each receives the same bags of food, that's equality. But only one of them can survive comfortably. That's the distinction.

Equality gives everyone the same thing. Equity gives people what they need for a fair shot.

Ignoring history and discrimination—and claiming handing out the same help to everyone is just—is far from just.

Black communities need more than charity—we need justice. Equity asks: Where are you starting from? What have you endured?

The Urgency of Equity

Equity demands awareness. It challenges the notion that success is solely about hard work, highlighting that some may work just as hard and be systematically denied the same tools. This realization frightens those who benefit from the silence and inequality.

That’s why diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) programs are under attack. They reveal uncomfortable truths that threaten those who’ve long held power. White privilege doesn’t want to share power—it just pretends to.

Equity is the only path to justice. It creates a society where everyone has the same chance—not just in theory, but in reality. If your system only works for the privileged, it’s unworthy of preservation.

Equity isn’t about handouts. It’s about leveling a field that was tilted for centuries. It’s about redistributing resources and restoring dignity to those held back.

We don’t want crumbs anymore. We want a seat at the table, not just as decoration, but to help design it.

Until equity becomes the standard—equality will remain an illusion.

White History Is U.S. History. Where Is Ours?

American schools teach white history all year while Black history gets 28 days—if that. And often, those 28 days are watered down. This isn’t just an educational failure—it’s a psychological one.

White history is the default: Founding Fathers, the Revolutionary War, the space race—all told through a Eurocentric lens. Meanwhile, the contributions of Black Americans are often merely footnotes.

Our children grow up feeling like guests in a home their ancestors helped build. We must change that.

Our children need to see themselves in textbooks—not just as victims, but as visionaries. They need to learn Black history that begins with power, marked by monumental achievements and contributions.

They should know of:

• Black Wall Street: a thriving Black business district in Tulsa destroyed by white mobs in 1921—not because it failed, but because it succeeded.

• Shirley Chisholm: the first Black woman elected to Congress and a nominee for President.

• Katherine Johnson: the NASA mathematician who helped launch astronauts.

• The Harlem Renaissance: a cultural explosion marking Black creativity.

• Mansa Musa: the 14th-century emperor of Mali, often called the richest person in world history.

  
  

This is not just “Black history.” This is world history, human history, American history—and it’s barely taught.

The Power in Truth-Telling

Teaching Black history is crucial. It’s not about guilt but about truth and healing. Until our stories are told fully and unapologetically, America will never be whole.

You cannot claim liberty and justice for all while suppressing the history of millions who contributed to the very liberties celebrated.

So we ask, Where is our history?

If white history is American history, so is ours. It’s time for America to act like it.

Retraining the Mind

The mind is a powerful tool. It can build or destroy. It can be a cage or key. Education, religion, and media have molded Black minds—not for freedom but for control.

From birth, we’re taught that whiteness is the goal. Messages are seeded early, reinforced daily, and passed down until they feel like truth. But they are lies.

Retraining the mind is revolutionary. It starts with acknowledging how our upbringing shapes self-perception.

Steps to Retrain the Mind

1. Acknowledge how upbringing shapes self-perception:

   Children absorb their environment. If Blackness is associated with pain or punishment, they internalize it.

   
   

2. Challenge negative thought patterns:

   We must confront thoughts like, “I’m not good enough.” This shift is the beginning of strength.

   
   

3. Replace them with affirmations:

   Rewrite negative narratives. Exchange “I’m too much” with “I am powerful.” Speak life into ourselves.

   
   

4. Rewire our brains to believe in our excellence:

   Through repetition, we can change how we think and respond. Therapy, especially cognitive-behavioral therapy, aids this process. It provides tools to rebuild self-worth.

   
   

Collective Healing

Retraining isn’t just personal—it’s communal. We need spaces to learn and grow together—where Blackness is celebrated unapologetically.

These sacred spaces nurture Black creativity without requiring explanation or code-switching. They’re essential for collective resistance.

Freedom starts within. Once we free our minds and believe in our beauty and brilliance, no system can hold us back.

Conclusion: Why Black History Must Be Taught More Than Ever

Black history is not just about the past. It’s about the present and the future. It is a blueprint of resilience, a compass for liberation, and a mirror reflecting our true identity—who we actually are.

It is a tool for survival, a language of resistance, and a path to healing. Black history reminds us that we have always mattered.

When Black children learn their history—they understand their existence is not an accident. They learn their greatness is inherited, not new.

This is why systems built on oppression seek to keep it buried.

We must fight to keep Black history alive in every classroom, every community, every home. Not as a “nice to have,” but as a necessity. Because for centuries, white history has monopolized the narrative. It’s time for correction—not just inclusion, but elevation of Black voices.

When Black history is suppressed or simplified, it becomes easier to devalue Black lives. Laws ban discussions of racism in schools, and politicians fear “critical race theory” without understanding it.

But we are not here to make the world comfortable with injustice. We are here to shine light, tell stories, lift ancestral names, and speak boldly against suppression.

Because the stakes are too high.

When a child doesn’t know their worth, they adopt someone else’s version of themselves. When disconnected from history, a community becomes vulnerable to manipulation and invisibility.

We cannot afford for that to happen.

Black history must exist in museums, films, songs, and conversations. It should be integrated into American identity—because that is what it always has been.

Until Black history is recognized as American history, the nation will remain divided—not just by race, but by truth itself.

If we are to heal—truly heal—we must start with the truth.

That’s why Black history must be taught, protected, funded, centered, and celebrated.

Because it is through knowing who we were…

that we remember who we are…

and decide who we will become.