Black History is not confined to the past; it is continuously being written
BY Jacinta Mordi
Black History Month has a reputation. For some people, it is a time of solemn assemblies, recycled PowerPoints, and the same five historical figures trotted out like dependable guest speakers, often in lecture halls we know all too well. Important? Yes. Exhausting? Also yes.
However, Black History Month, at least the way I experience it, is less like a history lecture and more like a living room conversation. You know the kind: stories being passed around, laughter cutting through seriousness, and moments where you suddenly realize, oh… this is bigger than me. Sometimes those moments happen after class, in residence common rooms, or in quiet conversations across campus.
As a Black woman in university, Black history does not feel like something confined to the past. It shows up in my lectures, my friendships, my exhaustion, my joy, and sometimes in the quiet pride of just existing in spaces that were not built with me in mind, especially at a small, predominantly white institution like Mt.A Black history is not only about what happened, it is about what is still happening.
And yes, it is about the big names we are taught to remember. Martin Luther King Jr., Rosa Parks, and other icons, undeniably. But Black history also lives in the unnamed: the Black students navigating predominantly white institutions, the parents who immigrated with dreams heavier than their suitcases, the aunties who remind us that survival itself can be an act of resistance, even from a small campus in Sackville.
What I love about Black History Month is that it gives us permission to zoom out and zoom in. To talk about transatlantic slavery and colonialism, but also about Black joy, creativity, and humor. Black history is not only a story of suffering, but also a story of brilliance. Of people who found ways to create music, art, language, and culture in the face of systems designed to erase them, systems we still critically examine in classrooms today.
It is also a month that invites uncomfortable conversations, and that is not a bad thing. Black history asks us to sit with questions like: Who gets remembered? Who gets protected? Who gets listened to? These are not just historical questions; they are painfully current. They show up in discussions about policing, education, healthcare, and even whose voices are taken seriously in academic spaces like our own.
But here is the thing: Black History Month does not need to feel heavy all the time to be meaningful. There is room for laughter. There is room for games, art, poetry, fashion, and storytelling. There is room to celebrate the fact that Black people are not a monolith, that our experiences stretch across continents, languages, cultures, and generations, including those represented within the Mt.A community.
In university spaces especially, Black History Month can be a moment of recognition. A pause to say: we are here. We have always been here. Contributing, questioning, leading, creating. Even when the syllabi do not reflect us. Even when classrooms feel isolating. Even when belonging feels conditional on campus.
And for non-Black readers, Black History Month is not about guilt or performative allyship. It is about curiosity, listening, and understanding that Black history is not separate from Canadian history, or global history; it is woven into it, including the history of the institutions we learn in.
So maybe this month, instead of treating Black History Month like a checklist, we treat it like a conversation starter. Read something new. Attend an event. Ask questions. Celebrate Black excellence in ways that do not end on Feb. 28.
Because Black history does not clock out when the month is over. It continues in classrooms, on campuses, in communities, and in the everyday lives of Black people who are still writing it.
And honestly? That is worth more than a PowerPoint.