As a child growing up in Philadelphia, it was common to take field trips to Independence Mall. I vividly remember being in second grade and touring some of the buildings, meeting an actor playing Ben Franklin and getting an up-close look at the Liberty Bell. What I don’t remember, though, is seeing any trace of African Americans’ contributions to the founding of the United States or how their labor made this nation an economic powerhouse.
Imagine being a Black child, living in a roughly 40% Black city, and being told your hometown is the birthplace of democracy yet not seeing a single reference to Black people or what they’ve contributed to that legacy. It’s like taking a photo at a family reunion, but later, when that photo is shared on Facebook, you see you’ve been cropped out. You know you were there. Heck, you even made a dish for the event. But there is no trace of you in the photo.
Even as a second-grader, it was obvious to me that Black people had been left out of the grand narrative of American history. I had that realization because I was lucky enough to have a mother who was both an intellectual and an activist. She worked as a librarian assistant for more than 36 years in the Philadelphia public school system. She purchased books for my brother and me to teach us about Black history, took us to lectures by world-renowned Black studies scholars and showed us documentaries about our history.
