Participants in the lynching of Lige Daniels on August 3, 1920, in Center, Texas
Forget the myths. America needs a white History Month dedicated to confronting the systemic violence, like lynchings, and wealth theft that built white dominance. Credit: Equal Justice Initiative.

For decades, a familiar refrain has echoed from certain corners of white America whenever February rolls around: “Why isnโ€™t there a white History Month?”

The standard, and entirely accurate, rebuttal from Blackfolk has been that since the white worldview and its protagonists dominate textbook curricula, media, and institutional power, every month is effectively white history month.

But as the United States approaches its 250th anniversary, itโ€™s time to reconsider the proposition from a radically different angle. Truth is, white Americans actually know very little about their real history. Theyโ€™re well-versed in a sanitized mythology of pioneer grit and founding fathers, but profoundly ignorant of the structural mechanics that built their dominance. Black people in America, by contrast, have always had to study white history with razor-sharp precision just to survive it.

As the nation marks a quarter-millennium, itโ€™s past time to grant that old request. Letโ€™s inaugurate a white History Monthโ€”not to celebrate myths, but to finally examine the unvarnished history of whiteness in America.

Slavery: A white thing

A foundational pillar of this curriculum must be the recontextualization of chattel slavery. For generations, slavery has been marginalized as a “Black history issue.” In reality, U.S. slavery is primarily a quintessential chapter of white history. Itโ€™s the story of what white people were/are capable of doing to other human beings for economic gain.

The system was exponentially more brutal than even the most horrific mainstream descriptions convey, relying on a regime of calculated torture, forced labor, human trafficking, and systematic family separation. Crucially, this was not the work of a few bad actors. While only a minority of white southerners formally owned enslaved people, the broader white population actively sustained the system.

They served on “slave patrols”โ€”the direct predecessors of modern-day American policingโ€”benefited from the broader slave economy, and united across class lines to defend a dehumanizing and racist racial hierarchy.

Legacy of institutional disenfranchisement

Beyond the antebellum era, a white History Month would illuminate the relentless, multi-generational institutional efforts to block Black advancement.

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When slavery ended, white-dominated legislatures quickly engineered the convict leasing and sharecropping systems, effectively re-enslaving Black labor. In the 20th century, the federal government structured its social safety net to primarily benefit white citizens. Black agricultural and domestic workers were initially denied access to Social Security. The GI Bill, which launched millions of dirt-poor white World War II veterans into the middle class through subsidized college tuitions and mortgages, was systematically denied to Black veterans by local administrators.

Add to this a history of purposeful medical apartheidโ€”from denying Black patients access to hospitals to conducting state-sponsored medical experiments like the Tuskegee Syphilis Studyโ€”and the narrative of a fair, colorblind trajectory falls apart.

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Wealth theft and meritocracy myth

The most enduring American fiction is that of meritocracyโ€”the idea that wealth is purely the result of hard work, and poverty the result of laziness. A true study of white history completely shatters this illusion, revealing 250 years of affirmative action for white people.

Consider the Homestead Act of 1862. The federal government granted 160 acres of public land to predominantly white western settlers for a nominal filing fee. In todayโ€™s real estate value, that asset transfer equates to giving those families over $1 million each to kickstart their generational wealth.

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Conversely, whenever Blackfolk achieved brilliant self-sufficiency, white supremacy intervened through domestic terrorism. In places like Tulsa, Oklahoma; Rosewood, Florida; East St. Louis; and Elaine, Arkansas, white mobsโ€”often aided by local police and state militiasโ€”murdered thousands of Black citizens and burned thriving communities to the ground. What wasnโ€™t destroyed was stolen, including over 12 million acres of Black-owned farmland seized through coercion, legal fraud, governmental backing, and violence over the course of the century.

The perspective shared by countless civil rights historians can be summed up as follows: The wealth gap in America was not created by a lack of Black industriousness, but by a continuous legacy of white state-sanctioned theft.

The living past and the way forward

This history remains entirely relevant today. The past isnโ€™t dead, nor is it even past. The massive contemporary racial wealth gap is the direct, mathematical consequence of these historical policies. Yet, by whitewashing this narrative, American society allows anti-Black tropes to persist, poisoning the minds of white, Latino, Asian, and Black citizens alike with a suffocating undercurrent of anti-Blackness.

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Will exposing this history change the hearts of those committed to white supremacy? Probably not. Hell, the principal author of Project 2025โ€”widely viewed as one of the most anti-Black legislative playbooks in decadesโ€”was a white man who majored in history with a focus on African American Studies. Clearly, knowledge alone does not guarantee empathy or justice.

Ultimately, a white History Month isnโ€™t about waiting for white America to change. Blackfolk canโ€™t afford to hold their breath waiting for a moral awakening. Itโ€™s about setting the historical record straight for the well-being and clarity of the entire nation. Facing the truth of America at 250 isnโ€™t an act of divisionโ€”itโ€™s the only honest way to understand the country we actually live in. What we do with that truth is another matter.

I'm originally from Cincinnati. I'm a husband and father to six children. I'm an associate pastor for the Shrine of Black Madonna (Houston). I am a lecturer (adjunct professor) in the University of Houston...