As Black History Month draws to a close, an unoriginal question, with only trite justifications for its very inquiry, pops up again – why do we need Black History Month anyway? The question is undoubtedly difficult, often provoking extensive thought pieces, the tones of which fluctuate between frustration and despair.

For those of us pro-Black History Month, the question falls alongside a series of others, namely: “Is there a need for the Afro-Caribbean Society, black and minority ethnic (BME) or women’s spaces?” These questions, often asked unassumingly, shed light on a misunderstanding entrenched in our approach to minority difference, opportunity and rights in Britain.

Year on year, I have found myself answering the contentious question in ways that are confusing rather than explanatory. This year however, it would appear that I have found a one word answer: blackface. Blackface is the act of darkening one’s skin tone to imitate that of a black person. Historically used by white performers to mock and demean black identity, it has resurfaced as a widespread trend in recent years, particularly within student communities as a form of costume.

Situated ironically at the end of Black History Month is Halloween, where this “trend” rears its ugly head – or rather, face. Cambridge has not found itself exempt from the hideous culture of blackface. Though seeming an innocent act involving a paint brush or some pens, modern blackface costumes lie at the heart of why Black History Month remains needed.

Central to cultural or racially appropriated costumes is a mystification of the subject’s identity. That identity is considered an othered commodity which can adorn the wearer as they see fit and be dropped as soon as the night is over. Though a lighthearted joke to some, this costumed identity, for all its scariness, represents a daily reality to others.

Black History Month is essentially about bringing the British black experience to the fore. Done right, it empowers a national minority, whilst in turn teaching the wider population that the black presence is integral to British identity and should be respected and understood as such. It is so much more than the commemoration of the Windrush or the abolition of the slave trade.

There is no better indicator of the deliberateness with which British history is taught than Michael Gove’s recent and abortive attempt to rid the national curriculum of Jamaican-born nurse Mary Seacole. ‑ the outcry from minority ethnic communities raised questions as to why Mary Seacole meant so much. After all, she was half white. To protestors and petitioners this was a mere technicality; her removal would have meant losing another one of the few black British figures school students have exposure to. The consequence would have been to further distort a view of the British experience in which ethnic minorities play no part. Seacole’s erasure would have sent a message to students of BME origin that their value in history, inextricably tied to their value in present British society, was incidental at most.

An argument often lobbed against Black History Month is that it maintains black history as a tokenistic aspect of the British experience, only to be taken out of the box once a year. The alternative would be students going through the educational system year after year, learning only about Winston Churchill and other “traditional” figures.

This is not to say that Black History Month does not have its flaws – or that I consider the long-term goal is that it remains fixed within one month alone. Black History Month strives to be more than a recounting of the slave trade. It attempts instead to be a clear and developed delineation of the struggles – and more importantly the achievements – of black figures against the historical tide of oppression. However, Black History Month still struggles with the problems that come with focusing predominantly on the slave trade. Not only does this distort how young and impressionable black minds measure their worth, but it inadvertently mystifies racial oppression as a distant memory, disabling our ability to use black history as a platform on which we teach respect and sensitivity of difference.

Ideally, black history would find itself an equal component in British culture and within the British curriculum throughout the year. It would be diverse in its focus, incorporating international figures such as Ghanaian President Kwame Nkrumah and Congolese Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba, alongside domestic figures such as Stephen Lawrence. It would cease to be so US-centric and rather look closer to home, where it would find an ongoing campaign by ethnic minorities to find a place within institutions where they remain underrepresented. These would be the first steps towards truly respecting difference.

Truthfully, we are far from claiming Black History Month as superfluous or unnecessary: BuzzFeed articles dedicated to incidents of blackface serve to highlight racial misunderstanding predicated on the foundational lack of diversity in education. Black History Month is not an indefinite solution, however. In order for us to achieve the freedom of discontinuing it, something we should consider an end goal, we need to celebrate and contribute to Black History Month and its continued attempt to underpin the black British consciousness.