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BLACK HISTORY TESTIMONY

  • Writer: Editor
    Editor
  • Apr 5
  • 3 min read

A powerful reflection on identity, displacement, and historical recognition unfolded during a public discussion marking Black History Month, as a Jamaican-born educator and community advocate shared a deeply personal and historical perspective on the Black experience in North America.


“I am Jamaican,” the speaker began, grounding her identity in nationality rather than race. Throughout her remarks, she challenged the conventional use of the term “Black,” describing it not as a culture or a people, but as “a sad story… a people who are still looking for a home.”


Drawing comparisons across histories, she pointed to parallels between the experiences of African descendants and French Canadians, particularly during periods of displacement and struggle. “There was a time when the French Canadians were ripped away from home… mother, father, and child never stayed together,” she noted, emphasizing that the pain of dislocation is not unique but shared across different communities.


Central to her message was the idea that identity is rooted in belonging—something she argued has been historically denied to many people of African descent in North America. “If you come from Rwanda, you’re Rwandan… if you are from Quebec, you’re Quebecois. But ‘noir’ is nobody,” she said. “People looking for a home, looking for their family, looking to belong.”


The speaker also highlighted overlooked historical contributions of Africans in early North American history. Referencing archival records, she spoke about Mathieu Da Costa, an African interpreter who accompanied early European explorers. “We didn’t just come here yesterday. We came before Columbus,” she asserted, challenging dominant narratives that often exclude Black presence from foundational histories.


Her remarks extended into activism, recalling efforts in the 1980s to institutionalize Black History Month. “We went to city hall and said we want recognition,” she said. That advocacy led to educational programs, cultural celebrations, and the distribution of calendars highlighting Black contributions—initiatives that spread across schools and universities.


Beyond recognition, she stressed the importance of cultural expression as a tool for inclusion. “We will use our song, our dance, our food… to embrace everyone and become part of the mosaic,” she said, advocating for unity without erasing cultural distinctiveness.


Her personal journey also shaped her perspective. Arriving in Canada in 1968, she encountered racism for the first time, contrasting it with her upbringing in Jamaica where she “knew only that I can be whatever I wanted to be.” This realization informed her lifelong commitment to education and community development.


As a teacher and mother, she took deliberate steps to restore a sense of identity within her own family. “My children must have identity,” she explained, describing how she gave them names rooted in their Ghanaian heritage. “They can say, ‘I am not noir. I am Canadian, I am Ghanaian, I am Jamaican.’ That’s identity.”


This philosophy extended into her work as co-founder of an organization dedicated to supporting immigrant children through education and the arts. Addressing systemic challenges in language acquisition, particularly under Quebec’s education laws, she described how many students struggle to integrate academically due to linguistic barriers. “Can you think of being 14 years old and you’re in kindergarten?” she asked, illustrating the social and psychological toll.


Her organization responds with creative solutions, using music, dance, and performance to help children develop language skills and confidence. “No child should be left out,” she emphasized, noting that financial barriers are minimized to ensure accessibility.


The initiative has also expanded internationally, with programs in Ghana aimed at strengthening bilingual education in a region where French and English coexist as key languages for economic participation.


Despite the weight of her message, the speaker closed on a note of resilience and unity. “United we stand, divided we fall,” she said, reinforcing a vision of collective progress. While acknowledging the ongoing struggle for recognition and identity, she pointed to cultural expression and education as pathways toward belonging.


Her reflections serve as both a critique of historical omission and a call to action—urging societies to recognize the full scope of contributions that have shaped them, and to ensure that future generations inherit not only history, but identity.



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