As we continue through Black History Month, Sophie Holder, our Diocesan Director of Racial Equity, reflects on the personal meaning of history, the legacy of family, and the importance of honouring the communities that shape us.
I never thought the word ‘history’ could mean different things to different people.
Well, that’s not quite true. I know when we say the word ‘history’, any given group of people may think of a certain period of time that has meant something to them or shaped their current context or country. Or they might think of their school years and being bored, or entertained, by a 45-minute lecture on Henry VIII and his six wives.
However, it wasn’t until I attended a conference last month that I further realised how personal the word ‘history’ is to me. At the conference, I was part of a group exercise, tasked with providing a five-minute presentation on a topic, not of our choosing, with 30 minutes for preparation. There were clearly people sweating at the thought of creating a presentation with a bunch of strangers – but as a chronic over-achiever, I was excited at the competition.
My group was given the word ‘history’ as a focus, and our initial discussions began with what the word meant to us.
Most people spoke about history being a subject in school, or something to do with the past. This shocked me, as history has always been a deeply personal reality.
When I hear the word ‘history’, it instantly evokes the memories of my near and distant family. I think of the people who have shaped me, who have made me the person I am and who also, even if unconsciously, impact the way I live my life.
This concept has never been more keenly felt than this year, on the passing of my father. He was a man born and raised in Jamaica, who came to the UK as a British citizen, when his home country was still owned by Britain.
He only planned to stay for a few months, because he wasn’t a fan of the cold or his lower British wages – yet like many who migrated, he never went back and stayed for another 60+ years.
His history, his-story, lives in me. It is not something that resides in the past or feels distant. I am constantly aware of the sacrifices he made, the prejudices he endured, the country he never returned to once he had children. How we became his priority, and his life became one of service to his faith and his family.
My father never expected his children to live a life in service to his sacrifices or his legacy. His duty to us as a father was simply something he viewed as a joy, but also his responsibility. Nevertheless, as a Black woman, when I look and speak to other people in my community, I often see and share a desire to honour those who are intricately part of our history, even with our lives.
In the healthiest of scenarios, this is not onerous. Instead, it is a way to make our forbearers proud, seizing opportunities that weren’t afforded to them or which they were flatly refused. In this way, honouring our communities becomes a form of respect but also resistance – a refusal to limit our potential or our belief in ourselves.
This thought is especially clear to me this month, as we celebrate the 39th Black History Month in the UK.
The theme is ‘Honouring Our Communities’, specifically 'recognising the everyday contributions Black people have made across Britian and celebrating individuals whose work strengthens and sustains communities.'
This applies to the pioneers of the Black British community, such as Ignatius Sancho, Lilian Bader, Andrew Watson. Or more well-known fixtures such as Mary Seacole, Trevor McDonald, Lewis Hamilton, Diane Abbott, Steve McQueen, Afua Hirsch, Stormzy and Jude Bellingham.
Yet, honouring our communities is also about acknowledging those who go unnamed. For instance, the NHS is made up of 49% of people from Global Majority Heritage backgrounds, with Black staff being 7.4% of the workforce. This is a higher percentage than is represented in the national population, with only 4% of the UK being of Black heritage.
Then there is the honouring of those who are not famous or directly on the frontlines. The people from the Black diaspora who make our local communities richer, whether leading in our churches, attending our weekly services, working alongside us or who directly form part of our family and friendship circles.
Sadly, what I usually encounter is people not knowing how to interact with Black History Month if they’re not from the diaspora. There are questions of whether events are just for those who share Black African or Caribbean heritage. However, that would be like asking if honouring Remembrance Day is only for the white British population.
Honouring our collective history involves seeing and celebrating all the communities who have contributed to our way of life, all those who have fought and sacrificed to make it better, the people we are all indelibly indebted to.
As a diocese, my call to you today is to not let Black History Month pass you by.
Take the opportunity to enjoy, visit and participate in the many events and festivities happening in and around the city.
Then, as the month draws to a close, choose to continue honouring our Black communities by seeing, listening, providing a platform and educating ourselves on all things that make us so wonderfully different, but ultimately bind us together as the full and diverse Kingdom of God.
As for me this October, I will be remembering those a little closer to home who have strengthened and sustained me the most, being eternally grateful to be Angelo’s daughter this Black History Month, and every one hereafter.
Find out more about Black History Month.