It’s that time of year again, Black History Month. Dedicated to the ones who survived 2020, and the ones who didn’t. Let’s do it. With tentacles.
Art: Poster for Lovecraft Country (HBO)
Every February in the United States, the country sets aside 28 (or 29 in a leap year) days to celebrate, discuss and engage Black History. Innocuous enough. And yet Feb. 1st seems to signal the beginning of a 28-day long ritual of whining. How come they get their own month? What about White History Month? It’s a cornucopia of misconceptions and endless micro-aggressive racial faux-pas.
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It’s that time of year again, Black History Month. And in this year two-thousand and eighteen of our One True King T’Challa, we celebrating in Wakanda.
It’s that time of year again, Black History Month. Every February in the United States, the country sets aside 28 (or 29 in a leap year) days to celebrate, discuss and engage Black History. Innocuous enough. And yet Feb. 1st seems to signal the beginning of a 28-day long ritual of whining (how come they get their own month?), misconceptions and endless micro-aggressive racial faux-pas. And this isn’t just from the usual sky boxes of white privilege; there are black people (looking in your general direction 
