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black history
Our Anthem of Black and Queer Resistance Is Turned Up at Full Volume
Just as church hymns carried our ancestors through hardships, our music today carries forward the spirit of every Black, queer person who dared to dream of visibility and freedom.
Feb 28, 2025
Music has always been at the very heartbeat of Black culture. Through harmonies, we have found community. Through lyrics, we have found healing. Through dance, we have found freedom in our bodies. And through the drumbeat of music, we have found resistance.
From the spirituals sung by our ancestors on the very land I stand today, to the hymns sweetly sung in my childhood church, to the bass-rattling house music in gay clubs throughout Houston, music has always connected me to my culture. And suddenly, as things begin to feel more quiet on a national stage, I am reminded that the music of Black and queer voices must keep playing, louder than ever before.
I discovered this month that Black History Month quietly vanished from my Google Calendar. Pride was gone too—a so-called “small” omission that represents something much larger and more sinister. This quiet erasure of history is becoming commonplace in public and private spaces, and it speaks volumes. With the cancellation of the Gay Men’s Chorus at the Kennedy Center, the oppressive tides of “Don’t Say Gay” legislation, the transphobic rhetoric, the defunding of LGBTQ+ healthcare and art, and the anti-DEI movements trying their hardest to erase Black and queer identities, making noise remains an act of rebellion.
Black, queer music cannot be ignored or sanitized or whitewashed or undervalued for the next four years, which means Black, queer creators need to be paid, be on the main stages, be given the mic at the awards ceremonies, and be given their flowers for the culture they sustain.
But the history of Black music cannot be rewritten to fit dominant narratives because it is the history of resistance itself. Church hymns and spirituals carried prayers and codes for the enslaved. Blues gave us a place to voice the injustices we endured. Jazz was birthed from the need for freedom of expression. Hip-hop became our weapon to challenge our oppressors. And our many contributions—too often uncredited—built the foundation for rock, country, pop, house, dance, and so much more.
And queer artists have been pivotal to this story. Billy Strayhorn, Duke Ellington’s openly gay composer, brought undeniable brilliance to the jazz world. Billie Holiday turned her voice into a protest. Little Richard, known fondly as the “King of Rock and Roll,” shattered norms and sang about his desires with the kind of joy that felt revolutionary. Sylvester, the “Queen of Disco,” gave us revolutionary anthems of love and resilience while fighting on the frontlines of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. Gospel music would cease to exist if the Black, queer writers, singers, and composers were erased.
Even today, Black LGBTQ+ artists are breaking records and capturing the world’s attention. Big Freedia is the New Orleans “Queen of Bounce” whose music and style have been sampled by some of the biggest artists today. Lil Nas X is bending genres and expectations for Black male rappers. Doechii captivated everyone watching this year’s Grammys and used her speech as a message of hope for Black and queer creators. These artists are showing that the power of being visible and unrelenting in their truth extends far beyond music charts.
But here’s the truth we can’t ignore—many of the icons that came before them, or are their peers today, still have to hide who they were and are. Societal pressures and safety concerns force them into invisibility. And now fear remains that if billion-dollar industries are cowering to current political climates, what will that mean for Black, queer creators?
That is why it is so important to support Black and queer creators, through hiring, funding, streaming, and screaming their songs at the top of our lungs. Their music doesn’t just entertain; it liberates. It mends spirits and moves people to think, to feel, and to act. It’s an instrument of resistance and a tool to drown out this world’s hate. Black, queer music cannot be ignored or sanitized or whitewashed or undervalued for the next four years, which means Black, queer creators need to be paid, be on the main stages, be given the mic at the awards ceremonies, and be given their flowers for the culture they sustain.
When The Normal Anomaly started BQAF (Black Queer AF) Music Festival in Houston, Texas four years ago, it was not created to be a demonstration. We just believed the power of music could bring people together, and—since no one in Texas had done it before—to center it around Black, queer, and allied artists we loved seemed logical. Now, it is the track list to a freedom song so necessary to repeat to quiet the deafening sounds of hate and fear for the community.
That’s why we’re unapologetically taking up space and taking the stage at this year’s BQAF Music Festival, an all-Black queer and allied lineup. For our fourth iteration, our theme this year is VISIBILITY. This music festival is a love letter to our community and our message to the nation and the world—we won’t be erased or silenced. We will be seen, heard, felt, and celebrated. We are turning the volume all the way up—not just for Houston to hear, but for every person across this country who has been made to feel like their identity does not deserve respect or recognition.
We’ve built momentum as a community. Black, queer artists are out here breaking records, genres, and boundaries. And we will not halt this progress. Just as church hymns carried our ancestors through hardships, our music today carries forward the spirit of every Black, queer person who dared to dream of visibility and freedom. Together, we’ll send a message to every lawmaker and system working against us. They may try to silence us, but Black and queer music will always be louder.
As long as there is air in my lungs, I will have a song to sing that fills the silence with the beauty, resilience, and limitless brilliance of our culture.
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No Matter How Many Orders Trump Signs, Equality Is in Our History—and Our Future
While there have been attempts to quell the excitement surrounding Black History Month, our resolve has never been more steadfast. The fight for DEI is a fight for democracy itself.
Feb 28, 2025
As Black History Month comes to a close, the celebrations and acknowledgements have felt less vibrant and more reserved. It is whiplash inducing to witness how quickly the outcry of public, corporate, and political support for racial equality quickly reverted to misinformation, dog whistling, and hate, especially after January 20.
Since Inauguration Day, when executive orders to curtail diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) began raining down, a wave of fear has now hushed federal employees and even corporate behemoths. From workplaces retreating from DEI commitments to federal agencies banning identity-based observances, all throughout Black History Month no less, the signals are clear—our collective progress, which has been decades in the making, is under attack.
Around a week ago, President Donald Trump marked Black History Month at the White House by making an appearance at a reception. Yet during his speech, he made no mention of his anti-DEI policies that directly impacted those in the room with him. He never brought up the number of federal agencies that have banned celebrations related to MLK Jr. Day, Black History Month, Juneteenth, and other "special observances" to comply with his administration's directives. There was no mention of his recent fearmongering, insinuating the cause of a tragic plane crash over the Potomac was the fault of DEI. The threats to pull federal funding from schools over DEI programs were also oddly omitted. He was silent about the major corporations like Target, Walmart, and McDonald's that have scaled back or completely dismantled their DEI efforts under political-driven pressures. There was no comment on how Black History Month no longer exists on Google Calendars or how the U.S. Defense Department issued guidance declaring "identity months dead."
Black communities have carved paths forward, not just for themselves, but for democracy at large.
"Today, we pay tribute to the generations of Black legends, champions, warriors, and patriots who helped drive our country forward to greatness. And you really are great, great people," Trump said confidently.
But how can you truly pay tribute to these Black legends when you instruct others to rewrite, water down, or ignore their history of fighting against discrimination and racism? When you deny their life's work from continuing by dismantling the programs they helped build to better this nation? When you block opportunities to those from their community?
To deny our nation's businesses and institutions from providing DEI initiatives is to deny the progress that arose from centuries of resilience and resistance. And it's a willful act of revisionism to erase the stories, contributions, and sacrifices of Black Americans.
Slavery, segregation, and racism are not histories that should be kept secret; their impacts are still present and like any problem, cannot be solved by being ignored. America has never been a land of racial harmony. But it can never be one if we continue to believe that the best way to move beyond the legacies of racial hatred is to ignore them.
That is why DEI is so crucial to protect. It's a framework that ensures we acknowledge the truths of our history, fostering workplaces and educational systems that reflect the rich, multicultural fabric of our nation. Charles Chesnutt once wrote, "There is plenty of room for us all." This simple truth still holds. Acknowledging the painful complexities of our past does not diminish, it enriches—it creates space for all of us to grow together.
But instead of planting seeds for growth, many are burying their heads in the sand. The result? We see companies abruptly ending DEI programs, massive job cuts for diversity officers, and a national dialogue dominated by fear of "cancel culture" rather than confronting systemic inequities. This is emblematic of a broader issue—a culture that prioritizes comfort and status quo over change and discomfort.
To those retreating from DEI efforts, I ask—were you ever truly committed to them in the first place? At the heart of DEI is a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths about race, gender, disability, and other issues that our country and its institutions have tried to erase through discrimination and violence. Abandoning DEI measures thus means abandoning your colleagues, your students, your community members.
"The last administration tried to reduce all of American history to a single year, 1619. But under our administration, we honor the indispensable role Black Americans have always played in the immortal cause of another day, 1776," Trump said at the event. "We like 1776."
But this is just another example of ignoring history to better serve your own narrative. There would not be America's founding in 1776 if it were not for 1619 and the Black lives that built this nation. Black history began on this continent before America was even established as a country, and we can not rewrite that truth.
While there have been attempts to quell the excitement surrounding Black History Month, our resolve has never been more steadfast. The fight for DEI is a fight for democracy itself. This is not a story of retreat. It's merely another chapter in a grander story of resistance.
Black history is not solely about celebration; it's a living testament to resistance tethered to the pursuit of democratic ideals. Black communities have carved paths forward, not just for themselves, but for democracy at large. When we resist unconstitutional actions, racism, transphobia, homophobia, and sexism, we do so not just for ourselves but for the affirmative vision of what the world should look like. And that takes work. Hard work that cannot be accomplished by ignoring our history and the problems at hand. To retreat now, to claim ignorance or to ignore the issues would be a disservice to the shoulders we stand on and the generations that will come after us.
They cannot erase the history that has carried us this far, and they cannot silence our calls for equality. We persist.
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Trump May Try, But It’s Impossible to Erase the Legacy of Black People in This Country
Having overcome enslavement, Jim Crow, and more, our striving to thrive in a country with so-called leaders who would prefer to keep us living on the margins only exemplifies the America we aspire to.
Feb 10, 2025
It’s a trend that’s been building for a few years now.
Books by predominantly Black authors are being banned around the country. School curricula have been amended to skip the history lesson on slavery and racism. Critical Race Theory (CRT)—and anything that vaguely looks like it—is under attack. And the concept of “wokeness” has been misconstrued and weaponized.
Fast-forward to February 2025 and there’s been a doubling down on these attempts to erase Black history. U.S. President Donald Trump’s anti-DEI, anti-“woke” rhetoric has led major companies and even many federal agencies to avoid observing Black History Month.
One thing Black people are going to do is to be Black—and proud. We don’t need a month to know that we stand on the shoulders of giants.
As I consider the president’s campaign promise to “make America great again,” I wonder if he means to make America “white” again.
From failing to condemn white supremacists for their violent march in Charlottesville, Virginia during his first term to blaming “diversity hires” for January’s plane crash in Washington, D.C. this year, Trump and his allies seem to have a difficult time acknowledging the diversity that actually makes this country great.
This has been especially true for Black people feeling the brunt of his Executive Orders. These haven’t just eliminated recent diversity and inclusion initiatives—one even rescinded an Executive Order signed by President Lyndon B. Johnson to end discriminatory practices mostly aimed at Black Americans.
During a speech at Howard University in 1965, President Johnson said that Black Americans were “still buried under a blanket of history and circumstance.” Following widespread protests, it was Johnson who signed the landmark Civil Rights Act and Voting Rights Act into law. Now both historic milestones are under threat by the attempts of Trump and many others to erode the social and economic gains made by Black Americans.
It’s as if we are reliving a time akin to the nadir of race relations in America—the period after Reconstruction, when white supremacists regained power and tried to reverse the progress Black Americans made after the emancipation of enslaved people.
Today, from the U.S. Air Force [temporarily] removing coursework on the Tuskegee Airmen to orders by many federal agencies, including the military, canceling Black History Month celebrations, these extreme rollbacks will set a new precedent impacting all minority groups.
I can’t help but to return to sentiments shared by The 1619 Project founder Nikole Hannah-Jones: “The same instinct that led powerful people to prohibit Black people from being able to read,” she wrote, is also “leading powerful people to try to stop our children from learning histories that would lead them to question the unequal society that we have as well.”
There is nothing comfortable about the history of Black Americans—it’s a history that shatters the myth of American exceptionalism. Nevertheless, Black history is American history. Instead of banning it, we must teach it.
It would be impossible to erase the legacy of Black people in this country. Ours is a legacy that endures—one that will continue to endure no matter who’s in the White House.
One thing Black people are going to do is to be Black—and proud. We don’t need a month to know that we stand on the shoulders of giants.
Having overcome enslavement, Jim Crow, and more, our striving to thrive in a country with so-called leaders who would prefer to keep us living on the margins only exemplifies the America we aspire to. And it’s a fight that’s made this country better for struggling people of all races.
Like it or not, Black history is every day.
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