Black History Month Events and the Politics of Posturing

​Donald Trump's White House Black History Month event is the latest example of political performance dressed up as community engagement. With a guest list featuring Kodak Black, Boosie Badazz, Rod Wave, Tim Scott, and Tiger Woods, it's clear that this wasn't an event to celebrate Black history. It was an event to posture Black loyalty—a calculated effort to frame Trump as a friend to the Black community. At the same time, his administration simultaneously works to dismantle Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) programs nationwide.

Let's be clear: if the Trump campaign indeed sought to honor Black history, we would have seen an invite list featuring Black scholars, educators, community leaders, activists, and everyday Black Americans who are the backbone of this country. Where were the Black public school teachers who, despite limited resources, continue to educate the next generation? Where were the Black small business owners navigating systemic hurdles to build generational wealth? Where were the Black medical professionals fighting against health disparities that disproportionately impact our communities? Suppose this event was about celebrating Black history. In that case, these individuals should have been at the center—not a handpicked selection of entertainers and athletes with loose political affiliations and past transactional relationships with Trump.

America is a celebrity culture, uplifting those we see as beautiful, better, and bold. We are conditioned to understand that there is a gate to privilege and that we should never press on to the unattainable invite. This event is yet another example of that conditioning at work. The messaging behind this spectacle is loud and clear: when politicians engage with the Black community, they do so through the lens of entertainment, not intellect. This isn't new. Black artists and entertainers have long been leveraged for political optics, while Black academics, educators, and grassroots organizers are often left out of the conversation. This is classism disguised as engagement, where those deemed most palatable or popular are invited to the table. At the same time, the working-class Black Americans who shape this country's history are conveniently ignored. The everyday Black Republican, the Black voter who has been told that their voice matters, was left out of this invitation list, as they always are. This wasn't a celebration of history but a transaction for political gain.

The inclusion of Kodak Black, in particular, is telling. Trump granted him clemency in 2021, and this invitation is a political debt being repaid. It's the same transactional politics we saw when Kanye West donned a MAGA hat in the Oval Office or when Ice Cube's "Contract with Black America" was opportunistically co-opted during the 2020 election cycle. The underlying message is that celebrity affiliation matters more than systemic solutions.

Meanwhile, on the policy front, Trump and his allies are actively engaged in an all-out assault on DEI initiatives. Across the country, conservative lawmakers are dismantling programs that address racial disparities in education, healthcare, and employment. States like Florida and Texas have slashed DEI funding, banned race-conscious curricula, and made it increasingly difficult to discuss systemic racism in schools and workplaces. These policies disproportionately harm the same Black Americans who were noticeably absent from the guest list.

Economic disparity continues to widen in America, where the top 10% of earners control nearly 70% of the country's wealth, while the bottom 50% own just 2.5%. The median Black household income remains significantly lower than that of white households, and wealth accumulation remains an uphill battle due to centuries of systemic inequities. The middle class is not the upper class, yet political rhetoric often tries to merge the two as if they experience the same economic reality. The Black and white working class continues to struggle for upward mobility. At the same time, those in power handpick representatives from the celebrity elite to serve as spokespeople for an entire race.

But let's not pretend that this problem is exclusive to Trump and the Republican Party. Political tokenism runs deep in both major parties. Too often, Black Americans—mainly working-class and middle-class Black voters—are reduced to pawns in a political chess game, used when convenient and ignored when it's time for real change. Democrats, too, have often leaned on cultural icons to win favor while neglecting the Black communities that overwhelmingly support them at the polls. Neither side is blameless. Neither side has fully addressed the economic and social disparities that persist long after the cameras and campaign rallies are gone.

This contradiction—the public embrace of Black culture while undermining Black progress—is a political strategy we've seen before. It's the same playbook that celebrates Black athletes when they're winning championships but vilifies them when they kneel in protest. It's the same logic that loves Black music but ignores Black pain. It's why entertainers are welcome at the table, but educators, policy experts, and grassroots leaders are pushed aside. We, the Black community, are too often treated like puppets, only used when politicians need a prop to wave in front of the cameras. And just like puppets, they only remember us when they need a hand up our—you know what.

Black history is not a stage for political theater, a transactional tool for securing votes, or a PR stunt to repair the fractured relationship between Trump and Black America. If Trump and his administration were serious about honoring Black history, they would invest in policies that uplift Black communities rather than dismantle the very structures designed to ensure racial equity.
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Black America deserves better than a spectacle disguised as support. The working-class Black Republicans who weren't invited—the teachers, the nurses, the community organizers—should take note: this event was never about celebrating Black history. It was about posturing Black loyalty. And if there's anything history has taught us, genuine support is measured by action, not by photo ops with rappers and athletes. Political allegiance should not be transactional, and Black America should not be content with being used as a seasonal campaign strategy. We deserve policies that work for us, not just a parade of familiar faces on a White House guest list.