I wish we didn’t need a Black History Month. But we really do. We need it now more than ever. Once upon a time there was no such month here, but there was one in the United States. Talk about the need for a British version went round and round for years, until in 1987 the idea was put to the Labour politician Linda Bellos. Bellos was someone I had met a couple of times, but we had stood together on many protests and demonstrations. She was able to stay revolutionary, and lead Lambeth council at the same time. It was Bellos who pioneered the first Black History Month across London schools, and by doing so she made history. We are of the same generation, so I can understand that when she used the term “black”, it was political, and not a reference to skin colour – something that many people find difficult to understand these days. I wasn’t interested in history at school, because I was being taught that black people had no history. We were usually being “discovered” by great white explorers, civilised by the great white conquerors and missionaries, or freed by the great white abolitionists. It was only when I started to listen to reggae music that I began hearing about my own history. I am not going to mention Bob Marley, he did his bit, but there was Pablo Moses, Fabienne Miranda, Peter Tosh, Fred Locks, Burning Spear, I Roy, Big Youth, Judy Mowatt and many more. These were my teachers. Black people were being beaten down in school, and beaten up on the streets, so we started to set up Saturday (supplementary) schools in people’s front rooms, and in community centres. We were that hungry for knowledge. There were racist gangs and skinheads on the streets, and sometimes we were forced to defend ourselves. And the police didn’t help us. I recently did a count and the reality is that I got beaten more times by the police than I did by the National Front – and something I can say for sure about all the cops who beat me up is that they thought I had no history, no intelligence, no rights and no humanity. They weren’t taught well at school. The racists that I used to fight on the streets of east London have not disappeared: they now have respectable jobs, they wear suits, and are much more well organised. They have organisations, so they can distribute brutality from their office desks. That’s why people nowadays often talk about racism being “systemic” and a “system of power”. Empowered bigots have learned how to sugarcoat their racism, and make it more “acceptable”, so they can blend into the mainstream and even debate with you on TV shows in the name of free speech and “balance”. They will tell you they want to put up borders not because they hate immigrants, but because they love their country. You know them, they start sentences by saying, “I’m not a racist, but … ” The uprisings we see happening all over the world now are not happening in a vacuum. They are happening because history is being ignored - and ultimately, it’s all of our history. Many statues of white supremacists should be toppled, and those that remain, if they remain, need to do so with context, and with their history explained. But it’s not just about tearing down statues, it’s also about being honest. If we tear down everything to do with slavery, because of Britain’s involvement and role in the slave trade, there might be nothing left. When I saw George Floyd die, I saw my cousin Mikey Powell die. When I see the insults black women get when they dare to speak up for freedom and justice, I remember the way the media treated Angela Davis in the US, and Linda Bellos in England. How can those who write hate about us, those who unlawfully police us, and those who judge us unjustly, respect us if they don’t respect our history? Now I love history. It is fascinating, illuminating and stimulating, but I don’t want to live there. Black history is not perfect. We have had our dictators, our massacres, our warmongers and our evil-doers, and we should not shy away from that. But we have also had our pioneers, our universities, our inventors, great writers, great poets, scientists, cartographers, teachers and philosophers. The police who beat me up didn’t know that. But there is hope. A few years ago, when the Black Lives Matter protests first started, it was a black thing; but this year all that changed. Some of my white students were contacting me and demanding that I join them on demonstrations. I saw a Black Lives Matter protest in Lincolnshire, and it was a case of “spot the black person”. I smiled when I saw someone with a banner that read “Black Lives Matter, don’t you understand, dad?” So this was a young white girl telling her father to stop being racist. The younger generations are speaking up. They are rising up. Black and white together, and it feels good. But our history must rise up too. I might be old. I might be history myself. But I am trying to play my part in the creation of the Black Writers’ Guild, to make sure our history is told by us, and our future is visualised by us. I won’t plug my book, Windrush Child. I’ll just quote my friend and fellow poet Linton Kwesi Johnson, who said: “It is noh mistri / Wi mekkin histri.” Now translate dat. Mainstream party politics are far divorced from reality. Those players haven’t got a clue. Anti-racists are being called racists, we who seek peace are called dreamers. They refuse to learn from our history, but they say things like “Happy Black History Month” as if it’s Christmas, or Easter, or some pray day imposed on us by the church. We need Black History Month now more than ever before. If we really want to understand what’s happening in the world, and change it for the better, we must confront the past and learn from the past. Good or bad. We owe it to ourselves, and future generations. Now, go and listen to some reggae. Go on. Turn up the bass. • Benjamin Zephaniah is a poet. His latest book, Windrush Child, a novel for young adults, will be published in November.