I am reading another chapter of American history: "Combee: Harriet Tubman, the Combahee River Raid and Black Freedom during the Civil War," by Edda Fields-Black. It’s the story of how Tubman helped lead enslaved people out of bondage in South Carolina while she was employed as a spy for the Union Army in 1863, in the middle of the war.

Notably, the author is the daughter of Miami-based archivist, Dorothy Jenkins Fields. Dorothy was honored for her work to preserve the famed Black-owned Lyric Theater (est. 1913) when a historical marker was unveiled this week in historic Overtown, Miami, Fla.

Edda’s book draws on meticulous and original research. It’s more than 700 pages are filled with narrative, footnotes, and illustrations. It also highlights Edda’s father’s family by following the plight of her ancestors who worked in the rice “prison houses of bondage," as she describes those wretched places.

The book is giving me a new perspective about Black history in the USA.

For instance, the author reminds us that there was a language barrier between Harriet and the language of the people in the “low country," affirming that there was never a monolithic Black population in this country. Harriet was born in Maryland, had emancipated herself with the help of “northern” abolitionists, and was living in New York when she joined the Army.

The culture, idioms, songs, and rural environment of the enslaved south were drastically different from those of Blacks living above the Mason/Dixon line, drawn in 1760, who were north of the

Maryland/Delaware borders where urban-based commerce and manufacturing were growing.

Yet, there was that universal yearning for freedom which bound Harriett to anyone who wanted to escape from the Cumberland River plantations and those along the Atlantic shore: a common cause.

That one distinction, between language and culture in the Black community in 1863, gave me pause to think about where Blacks are in this country today.

Do we still have a common cause?

In 2024, some Black folk voted for Donald Trump. The question of “why” lingers over the foul odor coming from a mix of disdain and distrust, thus further dividing us against our common cause: freedom from the perpetual tyranny of unjust laws and policies plaguing Blacks since 1619.

Our history is systematically being removed from the larger public. Schools have been scrubbed of textbooks, literature and curricula that teach Black history; Arlington National cemetery has removed links to where notable Blacks are buried, and we can expect more attempts at erasure.

Current books about American history underscores how the country was founded on class and race conscious guidelines. It took more than 100 years after the Declaration of Independence (1776) before Black men could vote, by virtue of the Fifteenth Amendment vote (1870), but who were usually denied under individual state’s right laws and practices. It was another 50 years before Black women could vote (1920), and another 34 years before Black children could, by law, attend so-called white schools throughout the nation (1954).

Make no mistake, we are still looking to enact additional guarantees for justice and equal treatment under the law, while many of the previous gains are being reversed.

So, how do we understand our place in American history and appreciate our roles in it? There are many books you can read, or write yourself.

I love what Marvin Dunn, professor of anthropology, FIU, is doing in his ”Teach the Truth” movement. He is leading by example: bus tours, educational workshops, a free community garden, etc., thus making us pay attention to Black history as a living reality: It’s on our faces, in our swagger our food, cultivated in our social/civic organizations, Black churches and beyond.

Black history is oral and it’s written in documents such as family trees, birth and death certificates, recorded land deeds, church programs, cemetery markers, histories of civic/social organizations and more.

Remember, we may speak different dialects but there is great value in being able to code-switch as a form of resistance.

Kendrick Lamar’s “They Not Like Us” lyrics memorialized that form of pushback.

But do we have a common cause anymore? Are Black folk so integrated into the false American ideal that we no longer understand one another? We cannot afford to continue to divide ourselves along artificial lines of difference. Minor distinctions cannot remain if we are serious about living our history and rebuilding a movement forward.

Langston Hughes said it best: “What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun or fester like a sore, and run….”.

Know your history. Embrace the common cause. Stay alert. Stay Safe. And run low, in a zig zag.