Our freedom is intertwined: Reflections on Black History and the imperative work of inclusion

The year is 1954. The Supreme Court has just ruled that school segregation based on race is unconstitutional and that all schools must integrate.

Let’s set aside the immense fear and pressure Black students, parents, and communities were experiencing, and only focus on the conversations those Black students had with their parents after the first day of school.

Imagine the look of sadness in the eyes of the 9-year-old little boy who tells his father that he’s ashamed of his dark skin because a white classmate told him he looks like mud and human excrement. Imagine the feeling of hopelessness as the father tries to console the child and renew his sense of worth and value.

The Black father tells his son stories of how people who look like him built this country and contributed to the very foundation and fabric that weaves together the America we know today. Imagine the father trying to calm his son at bedtime (for what seems like an eternity) so he can get some sleep – knowing full well that he will have to encounter that very same student again tomorrow…and the next day…and the next. Imagine the father tiptoeing out of the room so he doesn’t wake his son – only to find out his son never actually fell asleep, but rather quieted his cries so his father wouldn’t take on any more of the identity assault and emotional hurt he was experiencing.

It’s not hard to fathom this sort of thing happening in Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, or any other southern state during the mid-1950s. But what if I told you this took place in 2023 in Minnesota? Would you believe it?

I would. And not only because I understand how deep the roots of oppression burrow into the soil of our collective experiences as people, but because I am that father who had to have this conversation with his Black son…in Minnesota…in 2023.

When I’m faced with harmful questions like “is DEI still necessary?” or “why are we still talking about race?” or “why can’t you just get over it?”, I often think about my children’s lived experiences and contrast them with mine and those of my mother and grandmother. Without a doubt, my children live in a better time and place than any of their ancestors. Hard stop.

But what good is “better” when we only have “bad” to compare it to?

Sometimes it feels like this country doesn’t realize how long Black people in America have been “free.” Think about this: if you know someone who is 85 years old, imagine hitting the rewind button (or “skip back” button for younger readers) to the day they were born. Now imagine that on that day, you meet another 85-year-old person. If you go back to the day that person was born, you’d find yourself existing during slavery. That’s it. We’re literally two 85-year-olds being born back-to-back from one of America’s greatest shames.

Then, when you factor in things like Jim Crow, segregation, redlining, underfunding of schools, the creation of “ghettos,” food deserts, implicit and explicit bias, the assassination of community and civil rights leaders, the introduction of drugs into (and over-policing of) our communities, and a whole host of other systems of oppression, it shouldn’t be hard to see “why DEI is still necessary” or “why we’re still talking about race” or “why we can’t just get over it.” Because it’s still happening today. And, even if some wave of a wand could make it all go away, we’d still have to address the generations of harm that’s been caused to date.

But don’t get it twisted; this isn’t a “woe is me” piece. Far from it. This is a love story, a celebration story, and a call to action.

The love story

Every good romance story has drama – a moment when the “will they or won’t they” couple experiences a hardship that threatens to tear them apart. The audience is sucked in by the mere possibility that the connection they so dearly want to see might not happen. Then – boom – the characters find the conviction to work through the issues and live happily ever after. It reminds us that every relationship that was worth holding onto was also worth fighting for.

Now I’m not saying that the issues we face as a society are going to be resolved in 90 minutes plus commercials. But I am saying I love this country – even when it doesn’t love me back. And like in the movies, instead of walking away when times get hard, Black people are going to fight for the love we deserve – because that’s who we’ve always been and it’s who we’ll always be.

The celebration story

If there’s one thing I love about Black Culture, it’s that we find ways to turn tragedy into triumph. You would think that, provided our history, we would have given up long ago. But damn it all if we’re not a resilient bunch.

Give us the scraps from the table and we’ll turn it into soul food. Give us hand-me-down clothes and we’ll make baggy jeans popular. Give us hardship and toil, and we’ll write the words on paper against the backdrop of a dope beat and make music consumed by people the world over. We can’t be kept down. Our smiles are infectious, and our laughs are booming. We make a dollar out of 15 cents. That, in and of itself, is celebration-worthy and embodies the spirt of Blackness in America.  

The call to action

Given all that, my call to action is for everyone to see themselves included in inclusion. This is particularly important for folks who may be resistant to the work.

The recent attacks on DEI are undoubtedly coming from people who believe that, since the work isn’t centered on them, they have no part in it. And that couldn’t be further from the truth. All our freedom is intertwined with each other’s.

There’s no shortage of meaningful quotes that highlight the power of a collectivistic approach to equity, like “if you want to go fast go alone; if you want to go far, go together,” and former Minnesota senator Paul Wellstone’s reminder that “we all do better when we all do better.” Perhaps the most salient for me comes from Lila Watson, the inaugural president of the Aboriginal and Islander Child Care Agency, who said “if you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.”

Justice isn’t pie. One piece getting bigger doesn’t mean others get smaller. We all benefit when we help systems identify, eradicate, and inoculate themselves from oppression and racism.  And, while it’d be great to move as one cohesive unit, it’s important to know that this train isn’t stopping. The only real decision anyone has is whether they’ll find themselves in the train cars or left behind on the platform.

Written by Teron Buford, director of Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, & Belonging at Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Minnesota.