All kids of all races need to understand, not just about black

The words of Andre Gray — “All kids of all races need to understand, not just about black history but their own history. It’s something that will help you in the future, just in terms of moving on in life, understanding the things your ancestors had to go through.” — resound like a teaching of the elders, a call not to forget the rivers from which we drink. He reminds us that the story of the self is incomplete without the story of those who came before. To know one’s history is not simply to memorize dates and names; it is to carry in the heart the struggles, the triumphs, the sorrows, and the resilience of one’s people.

In speaking of kids of all races, Gray widens the circle of remembrance. He does not speak only for one lineage, but for all humanity. For the child who does not know where he comes from is like a tree severed from its roots: standing for a moment perhaps, but destined to wither when the storm arrives. The child who remembers, however, who knows the soil and the sacrifices of the ancestors, stands firm and unshaken. Gray’s words are thus a reminder that knowledge of one’s past is the shield and compass for navigating the future.

The mention of black history carries particular weight. For centuries, these stories were silenced or distorted, stripped from textbooks, denied in halls of power. Yet to remember them is to restore dignity, to honor the blood and endurance of generations who carried hope even in bondage. To learn these truths is not only for the descendants of the oppressed but for all people, for the story of one is bound to the story of all. The chains of the past remind us of the fragility of freedom and the cost of justice.

History is full of lessons where remembrance preserved strength. Consider the story of the Holocaust survivors, who, though scarred by horror, devoted their lives to telling their stories so that no generation might forget. Their children and grandchildren carry these stories like torches, reminders of both the cruelty of which humanity is capable and the resilience of those who endured. Without memory, the world repeats its errors. With memory, we learn, we guard, we grow wiser.

Gray speaks also of moving on. This does not mean forgetting. To “move on” is not to bury the past, but to carry it with dignity into the present. A people who know their history are not chained by it but empowered by it. They do not stagger forward blindly; they walk with awareness, knowing the hardships their ancestors overcame. To understand what was endured is to awaken courage in the blood, to remind oneself: if they endured, so too can I.

The lesson is clear: seek your roots, whatever soil they rest in. Learn the stories of your forebears. Ask your elders, read the old texts, preserve the songs, the prayers, the rituals. Know the pain they endured and the victories they won, for in those memories lies the map of your own future. Forgetting them is to wander without direction. Remembering them is to carry a lantern through the dark.

Practical wisdom follows. Parents, teach your children not only the history written in the schools but the history etched in your own families. Children, ask your parents and grandparents about their struggles, their migrations, their labors, their dreams. Write them down, carry them forward. And do not only study your own people — listen also to the histories of others, for empathy grows when stories are shared. By knowing both your own roots and the roots of your neighbor, you will walk into the future with strength and understanding.

Thus Gray’s words endure as a guiding truth: history is not a burden but a gift. It is not a weight that drags us down, but a foundation on which we rise. Every child who learns their story gains armor against despair, and every people who remember their past claim power over their future. Know where you came from, and you will know how to move forward.