This month, we mark a century since the beginnings of what became Black History Month. Black history in this country has always been tied to the present, to what we choose to see and to what we choose to ignore. This year, those choices feel especially urgent.
About five years ago, when George Floyd was killed in Minneapolis, everyone woke up and took notice that Black Lives Matter. There were tremendous outpourings of grief, outrage and resolve to address this issue comprehensively and with decisiveness. Companies jumped onto the DEI bandwagon, and leaders adorned their résumés with DEI experience. It felt that this time around, there was a sense of genuineness and sincerity.
That resolve turned out to be a performance.
The vicissitudes of the political landscape saw many backers of equity and diversity jettison DEI like a hot potato. Commitments that appeared firm under public pressure just disappeared once the spotlight moved on. That retreat does not remain confined to corporate boardrooms. It has consequences that show up in how power is exercised elsewhere.
Black history has repeatedly shown that ignoring injustice at its outset does not protect the rest of society, and merely delays the moment when the consequences surface more broadly and with greater force.
The current ICE Age has stripped away the charade of performative commitment to justice. It has expanded racial profiling in ways that cut across communities. People of color are not the only ones affected. In some instances, bystanders and allies who questioned aggressive and unconstitutional enforcement actions have been caught in the violence. The deaths of Renee Good and Alex Pretti occurred in this context of overreach and unchecked force.
It feels like we have come full circle, back to square one, as the cliché goes. The questions remain stubbornly familiar. Where do we go from here? How do we break out of a vicious circle that keeps making some lives more valuable than others and assigning unequal value to different lives?
I believe part of the answer lies in a generational shift that is already underway. Younger Americans, especially those under 30, have grown up in a country that is far more diverse than the one earlier generations knew, and they have experienced that diversity as a daily reality. Through the internet and social media, they have grown up with constant exposure to what is happening beyond their own communities and beyond this country. That exposure shapes how they see questions of equity, justice and human rights, and it suggests a future in which attention to these issues may be harder to abandon.
This is not a dismissal of older Americans or the work they have done. Many carried the cause of justice for decades in ways that were slow, relational, and rarely celebrated. Much of the progress we point to today exists because people stayed engaged long after public attention faded. That kind of endurance still matters. The challenge now is not to set generations against each other, but to recognize that clarity and endurance are both needed if change is going to last.
We can see this most clearly closer to home.
Minnesota has shown tremendous resilience in the face of unprecedented odds. What stands out most is how neighbors are showing up for one another regardless of color or background. People checking in, offering rides, sharing food and organizing community responses. This is not performative. It is real. This interconnectedness reflects a deeply human instinct whose foundation runs far deeper than institutional commitments or political slogans.
Those walking on the thin ice of performance, in sharp contrast to this everyday caring by ordinary people, will not endure. Performance always falls away because it is not based on shared humanity and sincerity.
What is needed is courage and a clear commitment to creating a fair and just world around us. That commitment cannot exist without a willingness to change ourselves. When we see injustice or oppression, we must try to address it to the best of our capacity, to speak up and stand up, and at the very least to save our conscience from dying by keeping alive the distinction between justice and injustice.
Five years after George Floyd’s murder, we are still asking the same hard questions. Black History Month is a reminder of what has been endured and of what remains unfinished. The choices we make in how we act, not what we say, will be the real measure of whether we have learned anything at all.
