Black history is not a chapter in America’s story, it is the story. It is the soil beneath our feet, the wind that pushes us forward, and the fire that refuses to be extinguished. It is a lineage of courage, brilliance, defiance, and hope that stretches from the stolen shores of Africa to the highest offices of American power. It is a testament to a people who were never meant to survive, yet somehow found ways not only to survive, but to rise, to lead, to transform, and to inspire the world.
In our own lifetime, we witnessed one of the most profound symbols of that rise: the election of Barack Obama, the first Black President of the United States. His ascent was not an isolated miracle; it was the harvest of seeds planted by generations who dared to believe in a future they would never see. It was also a reminder of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s enduring truth that “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” Obama’s presidency embodied the idea that history bends slowly, painfully, but undeniably toward justice when people push it with their hands, their voices, and their lives.
Barack Obama stood on a stage in 2008 and told the world, “Yes we can.” But those words were not new. They were an echo, a modern articulation of an ancient truth whispered by enslaved people who dreamed of freedom, shouted by abolitionists who demanded it, sung by marchers who were beaten and bled for it, and carried by leaders who refused to accept anything less. Obama’s rise was rooted in the sacrifices of those who came before him, and his presidency became a symbol of what is possible when a people refuse to be defined by the limits imposed upon them. Even now, when moments of public discourse reveal how deeply racism can still manifest, his legacy stands as a reminder that dignity cannot be diminished by prejudice; it can only be strengthened by the resilience of those who continue to rise.
Yet the story does not end with him. It never does. Because Black history is not a single moment, it is a continuum.
Today, another historic figure stands in the halls of American power: Former Vice President Kamala Harris, the first woman, the first Black American, and the first South Asian American to hold the office. Her presence is a reminder that representation is not symbolic; it is transformative. It reshapes what children believe is possible. It expands the boundaries of imagination. It tells young girls, especially young Black girls, young girls of color, young immigrant girls, that leadership is not something they must wait for permission to claim.
In her rise, we see a living reflection of Dr. King’s enduring dream, that a nation once divided by race and origin could one day embrace the brilliance of the daughter of immigrants from Jamaica and India and trust her to help lead its future. Still, Harris’s rise is intertwined with the legacies of women like Shirley Chisholm, who ran for president when the idea of a Black woman in the Oval Office was considered unthinkable. It is connected to the courage of Fannie Lou Hamer, who demanded to be seen and heard in a political system designed to silence her. It is built on the quiet, unshakeable strength of Rosa Parks, whose refusal to give up her seat became a catalyst for a movement that reshaped the nation.
Rosa Parks was not tired that day in Montgomery, at least not in the way the story is often told.
She was tired of injustice.
Tired of humiliation.
Tired of being disrespected.
Tired of being treated as less than human.
Her stillness was not surrender; it was a quiet act of courage that thundered across the nation. Her refusal to stand became a call for millions to rise. That single moment, small in motion but revolutionary in impact, sparked the Montgomery Bus Boycott, which in turn elevated a young pastor named Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. into the national spotlight.
Dr. King became the voice of a generation, a voice that spoke of dreams, justice, and the moral obligation to challenge systems of oppression. But King was not alone. He marched alongside thousands whose names history does not always remember: teachers, janitors, students, mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, preachers, and workers who risked everything for a freedom they had never fully known. His dream was not his alone; it was the collective dream of a people who believed in a future where dignity was not negotiable. As we reflect on his powerful words from the Birmingham jail in 1963, a letter that challenged a nation to confront its own conscience, we are reminded that the struggle he named still echoes today. Even now, freedom and justice are not guaranteed, and the tension between progress and resistance continues to shape the soul of this country.
Yet even as we honor these towering figures, we must remember that Black history is not defined solely by struggle.
It is defined by genius.
By creativity.
By innovation.
By science.
By bravery and resilience.
By joy.
It is Alain LeRoy Locke, the first Black Rhodes Scholar who helped ignite the Harlem Renaissance.
It is Alexander Twilight, who broke barriers as the first Black college graduate in America.
It is Dr. Charles Hamilton Houston, whose brilliance at Harvard Law laid the groundwork for dismantling segregation.
It is Judge Constance Baker Motley, who shattered judicial ceilings and carved a path for generations to follow.
It is the poetry of Langston Hughes and Gwendolyn Brooks, the first Black author to win the Pulitzer Prize.
The science of George Washington Carver, who transformed agriculture with imagination and intellect.
It is John Lewis, whose moral courage and lifelong activism, his call for “good trouble,” helped reshape America.
It is the activism of Angela Davis, whose courage challenged a nation to confront its conscience.
The music of Nina Simone and Bob Marley, voices that turned words into poetry, pain into power, and rhythm into resistance.
The voice of Tupac Shakur, a poet-prophet and early architect of hip-hop who turned rage into revelation, vulnerability into vision, and music into a battleground for truth. A force that still echoes through generations.
The athletic brilliance of Serena Williams, redefining excellence with every serve and stride.
The entrepreneurship of Madam C.J. Walker, who built an empire from vision, courage, and possibility.
And the cultural force of Beyoncé, whose artistry continues to shape generations globally.
Yes, George Floyd represents a painful modern catalyst, a moment that forced the world to confront the ongoing reality of racial injustice.
And it is the everyday excellence of millions whose names may never appear in textbooks, news media, or movies, yet whose contributions shape the world in ways both subtle and profound.
Black history is rooted in the past, but it is not trapped there. It rises, again and again, in new forms, new voices, new leaders. It rises in classrooms where Black and Brown children learn stories that affirm their worth rather than diminish it. It rises in communities that build, organize, and uplift despite centuries of systemic barriers. It rises in movements that demand justice not as a request, but as a right. It rises in art that challenges, heals, and reimagines what freedom looks like. It rises in the quiet determination of families who pass down traditions, values, and dreams that cannot be stolen. It rises in the brilliance of young people who refuse to accept the world as it is and insist on shaping it into what it should be.
Black history is not a relic. It is a living force breathing, evolving, expanding.
Black history is American history. It is written in the labor that built this nation, the brilliance that shaped its culture, and the courage that continues to push it toward its highest ideals. Yes, Black history is American history, pulsing through its triumphs, its trials, and its unfinished work; rooted in struggle, yet always rising in power.
As we reflect this month, we must understand that honoring Black history is not an act of nostalgia. It is a commitment. A responsibility. A promise to continue the work that began long before us and will continue long after we are gone. Because the story of Black America is a story of rising, not once, but continually. Rising from bondage to liberation. Rising from segregation to representation. Rising from exclusion to leadership. Rising from despair to hope.
Barack Obama’s presidency was a milestone, but not the destination.
Kamala Harris’s vice presidency is a breakthrough, but not the finish line.
Dr. King’s dream is a guiding light, but not yet fully realized.
Rosa Parks’s courage reminds us that change often begins with a single act of defiance.
And John Lewis’s lifelong commitment to “good trouble” is proof that the fight for justice requires not only moments of bravery, but a lifetime of unwavering resolve.
We honor them not by placing them on pedestals, but by carrying their work forward.
By voting.
By organizing.
By educating.
By challenging injustice wherever it appears.
By lifting as we climb.
By believing, fiercely, unapologetically, in the power of a people who have always found ways to rise.
And, as John Lewis reminded us, by making “good trouble, necessary trouble” whenever the moment demands courage over silence.
Black history is rooted in history, rising in power. It is the story of a people who turned suffering into strength, oppression into opportunity, and hope into action. It is a story still being written by leaders, by dreamers, by everyday heroes who refuse to let the flame go out.
As we celebrate this month, let us remember: Black history is not just something we look back on. It is something we stand on. Something we build on. Something we rise with.
The past is our foundation.
The present is our responsibility.
The future is our promise.
And we rise, rooted in history, rising in power, toward a horizon our ancestors dreamed of and our descendants will one day inherit, continuing the unfinished work.
—— Authored by Dr. Sharon Holder, February 2026
Dr. Sharon M. Holder is a South Carolina–based scholar with more than 25 years of experience in academia and healthcare. Her work includes global engagement, with a focus on health disparities, behavioral health, mental health stigma, and advancing equity for rural and underserved communities.