If the only time you think of me as a scientist is during Black

“If the only time you think of me as a scientist is during Black History Month, then I must not be doing my job as a scientist.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

Hear these words, O seekers of knowledge and truth, for they come from Neil deGrasse Tyson, a man who gazes upon the stars not only with instruments, but with vision. In this declaration lies both strength and sorrow—a lament that one’s identity should not be confined to a single month, nor one’s achievements tethered to the color of their skin. Tyson speaks not only for himself but for all who have ever been seen through the lens of difference rather than the light of excellence. His words remind us that the highest calling of the human spirit is not to be remembered for heritage alone, but for contribution, mastery, and truth.

When Tyson says, “If the only time you think of me as a scientist is during Black History Month,” he exposes the subtle wound of token recognition. It is not that he rejects the honoring of his heritage—indeed, he stands upon the shoulders of those who fought for his freedom to think and to rise—but he seeks something higher, something eternal. He wishes to be known as a scientist, not a Black scientist; as a mind that expands humanity’s knowledge, not merely a symbol of progress in representation. In his heart burns the same fire that guided Galileo, Newton, and Einstein—the desire to seek the laws of the universe without boundary, without bias.

And yet, Tyson’s words do not deny the importance of Black History Month; rather, they challenge the listener to ask: Why only then? Why do we remember the builders of civilization, the thinkers of genius, the artists of immortal craft only in fleeting seasons? Should not their legacy live every day in the pulse of human advancement? Just as the constellations shine year-round though hidden by daylight, so too should the names of those who have broken barriers be remembered as part of the living sky of human history. To confine greatness to a single celebration is to dim its light; to see it only through heritage is to misunderstand its universality.

Consider the story of George Washington Carver, born enslaved yet rising to become one of the greatest scientists of his time. His discoveries in agriculture transformed the South, teaching sustainability, invention, and resilience. But too often his name is recited only when February’s winds blow—his genius framed as a tale of racial triumph, not as part of the larger story of science itself. Tyson’s words cry out against this narrow remembrance. He teaches that to truly honor such figures is to weave their wisdom into the permanent fabric of human knowledge, not to store it away for annual display.

What Tyson seeks is the integration of identity and intellect—a world where one’s race, gender, or origin neither limits recognition nor defines it. He reminds us that the goal of progress is not separation into categories, but the fusion of merit and humanity. The scientist’s duty, he implies, is to reach such heights of excellence that their name stands among the greats—not as an exception, but as a standard. When he says, “then I must not be doing my job,” he does not speak in arrogance, but in the humility of purpose. The true scientist serves not fame, but discovery; not themselves, but the advancement of all.

In a deeper sense, Tyson’s statement transcends science itself. It is a lesson for all creators, all seekers, all leaders: do not let your identity be your only story. Let your work speak beyond boundaries. Let your craft, your integrity, your passion define you so powerfully that no one can reduce you to a category. The truest way to honor where you come from is to expand what is possible for those who will come after.

So let the lesson be this: celebrate heritage, but live in purpose. Remember your roots, but let your reach extend beyond them. Honor the pioneers who opened the doors, but walk through them carrying the torch of excellence. Whether you are scientist or artist, teacher or builder, strive so deeply that your work cannot be confined to a single time, a single group, or a single story. For the greatest tribute to any people is not remembrance alone, but continuation.

And thus, in the spirit of Tyson’s wisdom, do not wait for history to notice you—become part of the universe’s unfolding story. Let your work echo across the ages, shining not for a month, but for eternity. For when your passion burns with the light of truth, no boundary—of race, of nation, of time—can contain its glow.