It is an honour to stand here today and help open a conversation about Black History Month, a recognized observance in both Canada and the United States. And I intentionally use the word conversation, because that’s what I hope February invites each of you into.

 

Conversations that help you view perspectives different from your own. Conversations that encourage you to hear from voices you may not immediately relate to. Conversations that ask you to appreciate art, music, and culture through the lens of origin. And conversations that challenge the conscious and unconscious biases we all carry.

 

Black History Month is meant to be a time of celebrating Black joy, Black excellence, Black achievement, and Black contributions to the world.

 

But celebrating those contributions also requires us to acknowledge something uncomfortable: how often Black achievement has been erased from what white society traditionally defines as “success” or “progress.” Black communities have been systemically marginalized in Canada and the United States for generations. And just because you may not personally see this in what we often call a Canadian “melting pot,” that doesn’t invalidate the lived experiences of Black people every single day.

 

So why do we need Black History Month?

 

Because history has not been equally told. Because recognition has not been equally given. And because visibility still matters.

 

To give you a little bit of context, Black History Month began in 1926, when historian Carter G. Woodson established Negro History Week in the United States to honour Black accomplishments and ensure Black history was taught. In 1976, it expanded into Black History Month.

 

February was chosen because it marks the birthdays of abolitionist Frederick Douglass and US President Abraham Lincoln.

 

In Canada, momentum grew when the Ontario Black History Society was formed in 1978. In 1995, Jean Augustine, the first Black woman elected to Parliament, successfully moved to recognize February nationally. In 2008, Senator Donald Oliver helped formalize that recognition.

 

Today, Black History Month exists to honour the historic and ongoing contributions of Black Canadians across every part of society.

 

The theme for 2026 is “30 Years of Black History Month: Honouring Black Brilliance Across Generations – From Nation Builders to Tomorrow’s Visionaries.”

 

It reminds us that Black history isn’t only about the past. It’s about continuity, resilience, and possibility. It celebrates those who fought for civil rights and social justice, while also uplifting the young leaders, creators, and changemakers shaping Canada’s future.

 

Black history is Canadian history. It is American history. It is global history. And yet, for decades, those stories were whitewashed or left out entirely.

 

That erasure is exactly why February matters.

 

Black contributions are not limited to famous names like Martin Luther King Jr. or Rosa Parks. They are woven into medicine, music, literature, sport, science, education – into the fabric of our everyday lives. 

 

For many of you, Black History Month lasts 28 days; maybe 29 on a leap year. For me, and for many Black people, it’s every day. It’s part of who we are, where we come from, and what we’re building for the future.

 

I’ll be honest: almost everything I learned about my culture, my ancestors, and Black history, I learned at home. Not at school. Not from friends. Not from social media. At home.

 

Let me ask you something: How many of you use GPS on your phone? Or rely on traffic lights every day?

 

Many of the technologies we depend on every single day were developed or fundamentally advanced by Black inventors and scientists. Modern GPS systems, for example, rely on the mathematical research of Gladys West, a Black mathematician, whose work made that technology possible. And yet, her name is rarely taught in classrooms.

 

You probably know athletes and artists. But how often do we talk about what they had to overcome just to be allowed in those spaces? People like Jackie Robinson didn’t just play sports – he broke Major League Baseball’s colour barrier and permanently changed professional athletics.

 

Many of you can name famous explorers or political leaders. But how many of you learned about Viola Desmond in elementary school? Or that Canada had its own civil rights movement long before it was widely acknowledged?

 

That contrast matters. Because whose stories we consistently tell – and whose we leave out – shapes who we believe belongs in science, in leadership, in history books… and in this room.

 

We could spend a long time talking about systems – systems that historically prevented Black representation in leadership, education, and opportunity. And the truth is, many of those systems still exist. Unless systems are actively challenged, they don’t disappear on their own.

 

Some of you may have wondered why you don’t see more Black teachers in fancy schools. Or why many people in leadership roles often look a certain way.

 

It’s not because Black professionals don’t exist. It’s because change requires people willing to walk paths that haven’t been walked before, so others can see themselves there, too.

 

Black History Month has meant different things to me at different stages of my life. As I mentioned earlier, it has always been honoured in my home – celebrated among Black friends and family – but it wasn’t something I saw reflected in my school experience. Growing up in a predominantly white community in Alberta shaped how I understood belonging.

 

For a long time, speaking about Black history brought up feelings of anxiety; not because the history itself is uncomfortable, but because of what it means to take up space while telling it.

 

There is a particular experience that comes with walking into rooms that were not historically designed with you in mind. Rooms where there are few footsteps to follow. Where representation is limited. And then choosing to show up not just as a participant, but as a leader.

 

If you’ve ever felt like you had to prove you deserved your place before you even began, you may understand that feeling.

 

And if you haven’t, I invite you to consider that for many people, including myself, that experience is not abstract. It’s daily. It’s subtle at times. It’s systemic at others. It’s the quiet awareness of being visibly different in spaces where difference hasn’t always been acknowledged or embraced.

 

But here’s what I’ve learned: representation matters precisely because of that discomfort.

 

If not me, then who? Who creates the path if no one steps forward? Who shows the next generation that they belong in classrooms, in leadership, in boardrooms, in every space?

 

Sometimes leadership simply looks like showing up. Taking up space. And quietly, or boldly, saying “We are here. We have always been here. And we belong.”

 

And that’s where you come in.

 

Instead of asking, “Why do we still need Black History Month?” Try reframing it to:

 

“How can I help make Black history visible all year?”
“How can I listen better?”
“How can I learn more?”
“How can I challenge stereotypes when I hear them?”
“How can I make space for voices that haven’t always been heard?”

 

Because Black History Month isn’t about division.

 

It’s about inclusion. It’s about truth. It’s about recognizing brilliance across generations and ensuring the next generation gets to see themselves reflected in the world they’re stepping into.

 

To quote Aunt Vivian from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, she said “Will, you can read that book, you can wear the T-shirt, you can put up the posters and you can shout the slogans, but unless you know all the history behind it, you're trivializing the entire struggle.”

 

I think that line challenges all of us. Because it asks, are we engaging with history in a way that’s comfortable, or in a way that’s meaningful? Are we satisfied with symbols, or are we willing to understand the story behind them?

 

Black History Month isn’t about checking a box or posting a quote. It’s about choosing to know more than what’s convenient. 

 

Choosing to learn the full story. 

 

Choosing depth over performance.

 

Thank you for listening, for being a part of this conversation, and for hopefully continuing the conversation. I hope February becomes more than a moment – I hope it becomes a starting point.

 

I wish you all a happy Black History Month.