Dear LSA Friends,
In 1926, Carter Godwin Woodson’s advocacy for recognizing the depth and legacy of the African American experience came to reality. It was a week—the second—in February, coinciding with the birthdays of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln. Fifty years later, in 1976, Black History Month became a reality—shortly after his death.
Woodson believed that the contributions and experiences of Black Americans was “overlooked, ignored, and even suppressed by the writers of history textbooks and the teachers who use them.” He understood this at deep personal and professional levels. Woodson, the second Black scholar to earn a PhD from Harvard (after W.E.B. DuBois), was born to parents who had been denied the ability to read and write. That was a central part of chattel slavery in the United States. A formula preserved and transformed during Jim Crow through the framework of separate but equal.
For Woodson, despite his scholarly distinction, he was nevertheless “barred from attending American Historical Association conferences, despite being a dues paying member.” Sadly, his plight mirrored that of so many in his generation. And, notwithstanding the chipping away of discriminatory laws, vestiges of that history remain planted in the soil. Today, much like Black History Month, the Journal of African American History exists as part of Woodson’s legacy.
While critiques of Black History Month are not new—it is the shortest month of the year; it consolidates experiences of Black Americans into a month rather than an engaged year-long reflection; and it is a source of commercial exploitation—its impact is unmistaken. Considered against a sturdy and enduring backdrop of stereotype and stigma—Woodson’s legacy has been transformative.
However, as Black History Month greets us, so too are efforts to silence and dismantle our collective discourse on history, culture, and race in the United States and globally. New policies now reach our schools, universities, students, and faculty. These efforts are taking shape rapidly—whether books being banned, removed from libraries, and burned, or websites shut down, a turning point is at hand. However, the challenges are not new—and strategies for redress have always been with us.
For example, February marks the 65th anniversary of the student sit-in movement. Their resistance to Jim Crow-era laws—and subsequent arrests and beatings, highlighted America’s broken promise of equal protection, justice, and liberty. Their acts of courage, in the landscape of profound risk, were inspired not only by the circumstances of discrimination, but also by the bravery of others before them.
Today, the First Amendment must remain a bulwark against the suppression of speech, association, and assembly—for all Americans. Students and faculty are no exception. What the legacy of the Reconstruction and civil rights movement teaches us all is that the constitution does not exist for the privilege of some over others. It does not provide shelter based on wealth or other privileges. And, what Woodson’s legacy imparts is that there is still more to learn.
My best,
Michele Goodwin