Often times people will ask me, “What does Black History Month mean to me?” So let me first explain what black is to me, then why Black History Month matters.

Growing up in Brentwood, Long Island, NY, I never really knew what it had meant to be black. Most of the kids who lived in my area were either black, Hispanic, or of some foreign nationality. There wasn’t much talk about race on a daily basis. We all went to school, came home, played out in the streets together, then went home. The color of my skin was just that—a color. We were all the same to me and I was fine with that.

But then I moved to Lawrenceville, GA. Where the farms and fields were plenty, so many dull two lane roads, and a grocery store so far that walking, like I did in NY, was not an option. Everyone said yes sir or yes ma’am. Sweet tea was somehow different than iced tea. The sun seemed to be down the block over the summers as opposed to light years away. Oh yeah, pollen was not just micro-particles any more, but more like the south’s version of snow.

But most importantly, others had me believe I was “unfortunately” black.

From those days on, I took it upon myself to get educated about being black and found pride in who I was. I read books, watched more TV tailored to those like me, I made new friends with people accepted me for who I was and would drive me to be a version of myself, not someone else. I embraced an identity of blackness. A group that had it harder than others, came from much less, were looked upon as less than, but I didn’t care. If I considered myself to be something other than what I was, I might as well have been nothing at all. Coming to Georgia taught me what it was to be black and I will forever be grateful because I am black and beautiful.

I dedicated myself to helping others realize what I had realized at such a young age. To be proud of who you are, and to be who you are. In college I devoted myself to an organization that would enhance the black male experience and not only aid in, but demand excellence. I became aware politically and socially. I for once in my life had come into microcosmic encounters of what prior generations had faced in full force. Reflecting on racist situations created a greater sense of respect to those who had to endure so much more than I could ever fathom. In turn it also created a greater sense of responsibility to embrace my fellow man and connect with them in ways others would not understand because of who we were. It changed me. BHM challenged me every year to truly find out who I am, where I come from, where I intended to go, and how many I could take with me.

It is a sad to reality to think such masses of people are not comfortable in their skin, simply because people tell them they aren’t in the right skin. Or even worse because they are ashamed of their history and in some ways bear the burden of things like slavery, and genocide, and segregation, and Jim Crow.

Today’s society doesn’t make it any easier. Black people are often told to forget what happened, or get over it. But how? It is ingrained into who we are. In this day and age so many of us are still not equal whether we want to believe it or not. No one will forget the holocaust. No one will forget 9/11.  And I am far from saying those events are unworthy of remembering, but somehow the tragic events of slavery, segregation and racism are irrelevant and no one is to blame. These are the reasons the gaps remain unbridged. These are the reasons the tensions are forever real. This is why I cling to black history and will never forget.

So Black History Month to me is not just a conglomerate of days with a title. It is a month long celebration of all that those before me had to endure and still endure to this day. It is a testament to the many that came before me and sacrificed often times everything they had including their lives, to pave the way for the next one up.

It is a beacon of hope for the many that find themselves hiding behind impersonations and false identities. It is a birthday for so many who left the earth so early fighting for what they believed in and some just going about their business. It is a statement to the world that no matter how many times you are beaten, broken, turned away, segregated, devalued or defamed, you can rise again. You will rise again. Because we rose again.

(Written by Trevor Bramblett)

We at the Wish Dish would like to thank the END IT Movement for sharing their story. There is more than one type of slavery and this issue far from being a far off historical memory. Join the Movement and Shine a Light on Slavery day, February 25th. Learn more by contacting Trevor Bramblett: Trevorbramblett@uga.edu

What does it take to wake a sleeping giant?

No predators, no threats, total comfort.

He sleeps for fear of nothing and wakes only to satisfy his insatiable

appetite.

O, how slumber numbs his prowess; how it seeps into his bones,

crippling him. To think of what he slumbers through!

And what shall wake him?

The oppression of a monarch beckoned him to war.

He rose to the sounds of gunshots firing from the hands of a divided nation. An entire continent at war with itself stirred him from his sleep. Japanese bombs upon his own skin caused burns he could not ignore.

An attack destroying the towers that stood for the very freedom he slept in ached his heart with a fire for justice. Today the world reeks of an ugly injustice – the source of the stench everywhere, even our own backyard.

Modern day slavery is not extinct…in fact, it is thriving now more than it ever has in history. Slavery today is clandestine and lucrative, boasting annual profits of $150 billion from victimizing some 27 million people. 27 million people…that makes slavery the 47th most populated country in the world; 47th out of 196.

27 million people…spread out across and thriving in 167 of the 196 countries that exist on this planet.

The numbers bear plainly the truth and the statistics tell the story yet, he sleeps – the giant. And what shall wake him? His ears catch wind – stories shared as awareness is raised. His fingers twitch, life awakening in them, as they yearn for action. His toes, once cold and lifeless, feeling the rush of blood as hope wells up. Ever so slowly, he wakes, his parts ever so sensitive to the reality not of slumber but of slavery.

And what shall wake him? The finger being the finger and the ear being the ear – each part not yearning to leave the giant to become action, but to become action to lead the giant. Not lying dormant, paralyzed by uncertainty and hopelessness, but leveraging what they have and where they are. For it is not in numbers that he stirs, but in heart when he sees his parts coming to motion.

And what could bring them to motion but seeing people living in the atrocity of modern day slavery. Open the eyes! That the giant awakes.

And what shall he wake? He stands, walks, leaving behind deep footprints in his wake. The ground shakes at his impact – he relentlessly pursues that foul wretched stench, strangely stepping that the wickedness is crushed yet the lowly remain– free at last.

We can’t all be on the ground fighting, rescuing people and convicting criminals, but we are here. We all have freedom and as a result, we all have a voice – a voice able to speak for those who cannot speak up for themselves. We can choose to believe that though we may not see it everyday, modern day slavery is the reality for millions of people.

We can do our part to raise awareness. We must, because the hope and freedom we are given is the hope and freedom for them. And it comes in small, steady steps. On February 25th everyone is raising their voice to “Shine a Light on Slavery.”

We are wearing a red X on our hand and posting a photo of it on social media.

We are wearing shirts with a red X on it. We are initiating conversations with the people around us. Even now, we are donating to the 27X7 team – an online campaign that raises money to directly fund the efforts in the field to bring freedom to those who are trapped in slavery (https://give.enditmovement.com/team/UGA). The tide of freedom is rising. Free people free people, and oh are we free.