Black History Month is almost f50, having been officially recognized in 1976 by then-President Gerald Ford; remember him? I liked Ford, and loved his wife, Betty, who as First Lady was open about her breast cancer diagnosis and subsequent mastectomy. Her spotlight on the disease helped raise awareness, improving millions of women’s treatment plans and eventual health outcomes here and around the world. Later she would be equally as frank about her addiction struggles. Go Betty! President Ford was devoted to his wife, a moderate Republican political spouse who was pro-ERA and pro-choice; remember moderate Republicans, those wooly mammoths?
Ford made the designation of February as Black History Month during our bicentennial year to put another necessary spotlight on a neglected aspect of our history, that of Black Americans. It was hoped that this designation would expand and improve upon previous accepted narratives of this country, embracing the authentic stories of Black Americans’ lived experiences. This expansion, and deepening, has been both difficult and challenging, however, for those who don’t like to deal with current or historical reality, perhaps because reality, as Stephen Colbert put it, has a well-known liberal bias.
African-American poet and academic Lucille Clifton makes this point simply and eloquently in my favorite of her poems, “why some people be mad at me sometimes”, which I repeatedly stumbled upon years ago over a period of a few weeks, a coincidence that required I look her up.
Having had numerous heated discussions (a.k.a. arguments) with siblings about what “we” remember from our childhoods, which are as different as we are (very), this poem spoke to me. It also speaks to this moment in our country’s history with simple perfection:
why some people be mad at me sometimes
they ask me to remember
but they want me to remember
their memories
and i keep on remembering
mine.
Whose memories, traditions, culture, and stories are preserved and told, and how? Which are highlighted or dismissed, elevated or buried, remains at the heart of our ongoing debate regarding how we speak about and teach American history — Black history in particular. Centuries of tradition, as well as white-knuckled reluctance on the part of individuals and institutions toward embracing new and broader stories, continues to emphasize the dominant culture’s same-old, same-old point of view again, curtailing progress, stymieing fresh truths we all need to hear.
Lucille Clifton’s story is of a western New Yorker who attended Buffalo public schools. She initially attended Howard University, finishing her undergraduate work at SUNY Fredonia. Go SUNY! Along with being a published poet, she was also a historian, children’s author, professor and two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist. Clifton also served as the poet laureate of the state of Maryland from 1979 to 1985, doing most of the above while raising six children. Clifton once said that “writing is a way of continuing to hope,” and that “perhaps for me it is a way of remembering I am not alone.”
Unfortunately, conservatives in the U.S. resistant to expanding America’s historical narratives aren’t alone either, taking comfort (I assume) from the fact that their counterparts in the U.K. are equally impervious to change. The Tory Party voted to suppress any action regarding a commissioned study showing that more than 60% of England’s great houses were built on the backs of enslaved humans, because (my interpretation) it made them — and “their people” — look bad. Plus, highlighting un-comfy truths on historic sites across England might negatively impact tourism dollars spent by (mostly) white Americans intent on drooling over Lord Have-Alots’ stately houses and gardens.
Historical truths: Britain and Portugal were the two most active slave-trading countries, accounting for about 70% of all Africans transported to the Americas. Britain was the most dominant between 1640 and 1807 when their slave trade was abolished, but in total about 3.1 million Africans were transported to British colonies in America and the Caribbean, with 2.7 million surviving the punishing Atlantic crossing imprisoned in slave ships.
Also historical fact: the British Treasury went deeply into debt in 1837 paying out 20 million pounds, the equivalent of around $22 billion U.S. dollars today, to compensate slave owners — slave owners — for lost capital associated with slavery’s abolition. Worse yet, the treasury continued to service this debt until 2015, which means that multiple generations of living British citizens contributed, including the direct descendants of formerly enslaved Caribbeans. Known as the Windrush Generation, these individuals faced systemic discrimination in England while their taxes helped settle a debt paid to those who bought, sold, and exploited — and worse — their ancestors.
Expanded histories, uncovered facts previously ignored, memories and stories traditionally hidden, can be uncomfortable, yet need telling. Lucille Clifton and Betty Ford, would, I hope, agree.