Joy Yvonne Jones

“Here’s the true meaning of Black History Month — and why we still need it

On the third Sunday in February, we wear African attire, sing spirituals and tell our stories.

Before major corporations decided to support Black creators and offer red, black and green decorations, we told stories in church. We held events at the community centers and Black history lessons in our homes. The community would gather in the meeting place dressed in beautiful prints, head wraps and beads, and together we would recount the exploits of our ancestors.
Children would embody our heroes with history speeches that they had practiced for months. Every one of them, a mini Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Sojourner Truth or Althea Gibson bursting at the seams for their turn to speak. The Mothers, the elder women of the community, would sing their sorrows and shout for thanksgiving because, “We’re yet holding on.” The rhythm and sway of the spirituals would connect the congregations of past, present and future with familiar moans and cries that have carried us through time.

In communion with our people, we pass down ancestral traditions. We do this all year long, but in February we don’t feel the need to be quiet about it.

For this month we get to shed the anxiety of being too Black and be as loud as we want to be about our culture and our history. Make no mistake: Black history is American history, and Black Americans have contributed so much to the development of this country that it is impossible to limit our contributions to a single month. It is truly a shame that we still need to say that in the 21st century. This is our time to show out! For us to celebrate the impact of Black Americans, Black Fashion, Black Culinary Arts, Black Music, Black MUSIC, Black Literature, Black Academia, Black Art, All Black, everything Black Black Black. We have come too far not to use this time for celebration. The road to liberation is covered in blood and trauma. It is essential for us to give flowers and to heal in this space. We do this for us, but non-Black allies and accomplices are always welcome to join, respectfully.

Blackness is not a requirement to celebrate Black history or to partake in our festivities. We do ask that if you are not of the African diaspora that you respectfully resist the urge to pick up our culture like a costume. We have given so much of ourselves to American culture that it is difficult to discern what should be reserved for the Black community. (We reserve the right to look at you sideways when you overstep.) Imitation may be the highest form of flattery, but it is disheartening to watch people cosplay Blackness yet fall silent when it comes to fighting for our rights. We opened our homes to you and invited you to the “cookout.” It infuriates us that you survey our mannerisms and exploit them for profit in response. An honest way to honor Black culture is to give credit where credit is due.

Acknowledgment is why we still have a need for Black History Month. Our heroes deserve to be honored not just for what they did for Black people, but for civilization. Rare is the moment when our accomplishments are singular in impact.

A campaign of miseducation seasoned with anti-Black sentiment has effectively pushed Black history to the margins. We are so much more than a footnote. We have given so much more than a highlight, and our voices should not be alone in the exaltation of Black Accomplishments, Black Culture, and Black History.

This is my Black History Speech:
When I wake up in the morning as a Black Woman and look in the mirror, I see that I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams. From Louisiana to Texas, Minnesota to California, I am a walking example of their sacrifice. My every breath is a protest, and my every smile is a rebellion. I walk like I belong because the road has been paved for me to love who I love and breathe like I’m free. When troubles come my way, I say give me the strength of Harriet Tubman to make it through to the other side. Give me the courage of Rosa Parks to place my body on the line. Give me the ingenuity of Booker T. Washington to make my own way and make sure I leave the door open on my pathway. I am meant for greater things and so are you.”

“JOY YVONNE JONES
Playwright, “Ode to My Mothers”

I was cast as the primary love interest in a production of a play that was considered a “forgotten gem.” This play was racist; it’s a slave to the time in which it was written. Due to unconscious bias, the wealthy characters in the show were played by white actors and the poor characters were played by Black actors.

Even more so, the phenomenal actress who played my mother and I were constantly compared by the director to a recording of the production performed 20 years prior. It didn’t matter what we brought to the table. It was clear that they wanted our Black faces to perform the characters with the whiteness to which they were accustomed. A performance that would keep their audience comfortable while simultaneously checking the diversity box.

I take pride in the work that I do and the characters that I have the opportunity to bring to life. Our experiences as artists of color provide seasoning for the characters that we embody. Theaters shouldn’t see this as an obstacle, but as an opportunity to enrich the stories we’re telling. If I’m cast with the expectation of performing whiteness, then I’m asked to omit authenticity.”