A World Without Black People

Normally, I would wait until February to pose the question, to reserve it for the familiar rhythms of Black History Month. But with all that is unfolding in the world today—with truth under attack, history being diluted, and our contributions casually dismissed—I can’t afford to wait. Some reminders cannot be seasonal. Some truths must be spoken now. Because a world without Black people would not simply be a world missing culture or color—it would be a world stripped of convenience, safety, efficiency, innovation, and life-saving solutions we now take for granted. It would be a world where everyday ease disappears, where progress slows, and where survival itself becomes harder. Before we talk about erasing history, we must first understand just how deeply Black hands, Black minds, and Black brilliance are woven into the fabric of modern life.

It would be a harder world. A slower world. A colder world. Think about how your day actually unfolds.

You wake up and flip a light switch. That moment of instant illumination is connected to Black innovators who advanced electrical systems and filament technology. You check your phone—smartphones, wireless communication, signal transmission, and fiber optics all sit on foundations strengthened by African American scientists and engineers.

You step outside and drive to work. Traffic lights keep order at dangerous intersections. Automatic doors open effortlessly. Elevators lift you dozens of floors with the push of a button. None of these are coincidences. They are answers to problems solved by Black minds that saw danger, inefficiency, and human struggle—and decided to fix it.

And they fixed it while being told they weren’t capable. While being denied patents. While being barred from universities. While being paid less—or not at all. That’s not just intelligence. That’s resilience with purpose.

Consider medicine. If you have ever received blood safely during surgery, benefited from plasma treatments, or trusted modern surgical tools, you are standing on the shoulders of Black medical pioneers who revolutionized how blood is stored, preserved, and delivered. Millions are alive today because someone Black refused to accept death as inevitable.

Even agriculture—the food on your table, the efficiency of farming, the preservation of crops—was shaped by Black innovation born out of survival. Enslaved Africans brought advanced agricultural knowledge with them, then continued to invent tools and methods that fed entire economies.

We didn’t just pick cotton. We engineered systems. We designed processes. We optimized production.

And still, history too often edits us out.

A world without Black people would lack not just invention, but imagination.

Jazz, blues, gospel, hip-hop and now we know even country music—these weren’t just genres. They were coping mechanisms turned into global languages. Music that healed pain, told truth, challenged injustice, and taught joy. Take that away and you remove the heartbeat of modern culture itself.

Even language—phrases, slang, rhythm, cadence—has been shaped by Black voices. The way the world speaks, moves, dances, worships, and dreams is inseparable from Black creativity.

And yet, despite all this, there is a quiet erasure happening. Textbooks that skim. Curriculums that soften. Policies that silence. Voices that say, “Let’s move on.”

But move on to what, exactly? Because you cannot move forward by erasing the foundation.

From this pew, I see something else clearly: Black people have never waited for permission to be valuable. We didn’t ask if the world needed us—we showed it. We built railroads and cities. We advanced science and medicine. We transformed art and worship. We reshaped technology and communication. And we did it while being told we were less than human.

So, when someone asks why Black history matters, the answer isn’t emotional—it’s operational. Black history explains why the world works. Why food lasts longer. Why travel is safer. Why communication is faster. Why medicine saves more lives. Why culture has soul.

A world without Black people wouldn’t be simpler. It would be broken. And here’s the spiritual truth the pew keeps teaching me: God never places a people in the center of progress by accident. We were created not just to survive—but to solve.

So when you see attempts to minimize our story, understand the fear beneath it. Because once people fully grasp how much of their daily comfort depends on Black brilliance, the lie of Black inferiority collapses. And that truth is dangerous to systems built on denial.

So, stand tall. Teach boldly. Tell the whole story. Because imagining a world without Black people doesn’t diminish us—it exposes how essential we have always been.

And from where I sit, looking out from this pew, one thing is certain: This world has never worked in spite of Black people. It has only ever worked because of us.