Black History Month: Why Celebrate

By Joe McDaniel, Jr. and Valerie Mitchell, co-chairs of the Commission on Racial Justice and Reconciliation of the Episcopal Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast

February’s designation as Black History Month invites intentional reflection and celebration. As the interracial co-chairs of the Diocese’s Commission on Racial Justice and Reconciliation, we offer our perspectives on why Black history must be honored. While our viewpoints are shaped by our respective backgrounds – Valerie Mitchell, a white woman, and Joe McDaniel, an African American man – we are united in the conviction that celebrating Black history strengthens our community and furthers the work of reconciliation. Our reasons are set out in response to three questions.

What does knowing Black history mean to you personally, and how has it changed the way you see the broader national or local history?

   Joe:

Knowing Black history for me is an anchor: it connects my life to a long lineage of survival, creativity, resistance, and everyday joy that mainstream narratives too often erase. It’s personal: learning names, stories, and local sites of memory replaces vague statistics with flesh-and-blood people who shaped the country. That knowledge reframes national and local history from a single founding myth into a layered, contested story where Black labor built economies, Black activism changed laws, and Black culture remade American life. It also exposes how policies and institutions were designed with racial hierarchies in mind, helping me see present inequalities as outcomes of decisions across generations rather than accidents. Ultimately, Black history restores agency and dignity to my community while making the broader past truer and richer.

   Valerie:

I have loved learning about history my entire life. I grew up in Virginia and was surrounded by historical sites. Our family trips were frequently to Williamsburg, Jamestown, Yorktown, Appomattox, Monticello, Mt. Vernon . . . I could go on. I majored in history in college and went on to earn a master’s degree in history from William & Mary, one of the oldest and most historic colleges in the country.

What I did not know, however, was that I was learning a very partial story. In my Virginia History textbooks (fourth, sixth, and eighth grades!), slavery was mentioned only tangentially and the consequences to enslaved peoples never. The accomplishments of African Americans were not discussed at all.

Today I know that, without Black history, American history is, by definition, only partial. Black history (and, for that matter, women’s history, Hispanic American history, and much else) IS American history. American history, told in a way that centers only on white men, is not really American history. It is the history of one segment of America. We can do better.

I love learning about the hitherto hidden areas of history. Knowing a fuller story makes me a more understanding and more well-rounded person. It gives me a deeper understanding not just of what happened, but also of why things happened.

In what ways does learning Black history matter for current conversations about race, policy, and community?

   Joe:

Learning Black history matters now because it supplies the context necessary for honest conversations about race, policy, and community life. When civic leaders, educators, and businesspeople understand how segregation, redlining, disenfranchisement, and exclusionary practices were created and sustained, they can design interventions that address root causes instead of surface symptoms. In education, that knowledge pushes curricula beyond tokenism to critical thinking about power and representation. In government, it prompts policy choices – housing, voting, criminal justice, economic development – that take historical harms and structural barriers into account. In business, it shapes hiring, supplier diversity, market strategy, and community investment with historical awareness rather than performative optics. Ultimately, informed decisions reduce harm, build trust, and make institutions more equitable and effective.

   Valerie:

As a student of history, I know that history is always incomplete. The past is not a finite set of facts. Our understanding of history is a work in progress. Sometimes new evidence comes to light. Sometimes, as society’s sensibilities evolve, we come to see that the evidence, even the old evidence, points to a new understanding. Some people like to complain about “erasing” or “rewriting” history, but history is constantly being rewritten. This is true of all history, but it is particularly true of Black history in the United States.

We are at a turning point, I believe, with respect to our understanding of the role of race in making this country what it is, both for good and for ill. We have long hidden a huge segment of our history under myths and omissions, because there are parts of our history that we simply would rather not know. As a result, we are surprised by what happens today.

Our country faces enormous decisions with grave consequences for our future. We cannot make policy or choose leaders without knowing how we got to where we are. History always matters, even when we choose not to know it — perhaps especially in that case.

What are the consequences — socially, culturally, or educationally — when Black history is omitted or marginalized?

   Joe:

Omitting or marginalizing Black history carries real costs: it normalizes ignorance, enables stereotypes, and produces policies that ignore past harms. Socially, exclusion erodes civic belonging and fuels resentment; culturally, it robs everyone of shared creativity and role models; educationally, it leaves students unprepared to understand systemic inequality or to engage with diverse communities. Institutions can correct this by committing to structural change rather than one-off gestures: revise curricula to center multiple perspectives; hire and retain Black educators, historians, and administrators; fund archival projects and community-led public history; conduct audits of institutional practices and outcomes; and involve local Black communities in decision-making. Transparency, measurable goals, sustained funding, and accountability mechanisms distinguish genuine repair from performative inclusion.

   Valerie:

As discussed above, when we bury the difficult parts of our history, we cannot learn from them. We cannot know who we are, much less where we are going, without exploring what brought us to this point. What we have done in the past – known or unknown, acknowledged or unacknowledged – affects where we are in the present. Always.

Besides, there is so much to celebrate in Black history: stories of survival and triumph, stories of ingenuity and determination, stories of family, love, and pride. How tragic it is for all of us if we miss those stories! As a white person, I know that my understanding of my country becomes deeper and richer as I learn more and more about African Americans and the countless ways they have made us – all of us – who we are. I have greater faith in this country – yes, even now – when I remember what so many amongst us have endured and survived, what they have created and perfected, and what they can teach us.

Black History Month is both a time to honor achievements and a prompt to deepen our ongoing commitment to justice, education, and relationship-building. Recognizing Black history enriches the whole community: it corrects omissions, celebrates contributions, and challenges us to address persistent inequalities. We hope our answers to these questions encourage you to learn, to listen, and to act, not only in February, but throughout the year, as partners in the Diocese’s work toward truth, healing, and lasting reconciliation.

To learn more about the Commission on Racial Justice and Reconciliation, visit www.diocgc.org/racial-justice-and-reconciliation.