As we observe Black History Month and reflect on how far this nation has come, we are confronted with the sobering reality of how much farther we still must go. The sin of racism continues to plague America. When the nation elected its first African American president, there was a brief moment when some spoke hopefully of a “post-racial” America. That language has all but disappeared. If anything, racism appears to have reemerged with renewed visibility and confidence — though, in truth, it never fully went away.
Racism is a virus far more destructive and deeply entrenched than COVID-19. Unlike a pandemic that eventually subsides, racism persists across generations, mutating and adapting to new social and political environments. It has become so embedded in the American fabric that many no longer seek to eradicate it; some openly embrace it. What is striking in the present moment is not merely the persistence of racism, but its brazenness. Where it once hid behind coded language and subtle policies, it now often parades openly in public discourse and political rhetoric.
The hard-fought gains made by Black Americans and other marginalized communities are being steadily eroded before our eyes. Diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives are under sustained attack. The Voting Rights Act has been weakened by judicial decisions, and access to the ballot continues to be restricted in ways that disproportionately affect communities of color. The slogan “Make America Great Again” has too often functioned as a convenient cover for dismantling civil rights protections achieved over the last half-century.
At the same time, the teaching of African American history has been severely restricted in many public schools. Books addressing race, slavery, and systemic inequality are being banned or removed from curricula. Confederate symbols that were rightly taken down have been restored in some places, and the renaming of military bases once honoring Confederate generals — changes made to reckon honestly with history — has faced renewed resistance. These developments follow a familiar pattern in American history: every period of progress toward justice is met with backlash, retrenchment and resistance. The present moment is no exception.
The roots of racism in America stretch back to 1619, when enslaved Africans arrived in Jamestown, Virginia. Early colonial society initially relied on both African laborers and European indentured servants. However, when ruling elites feared solidarity between poor whites and enslaved Africans, they deliberately constructed racial divisions through law. Over time, Blackness became synonymous with enslavement, giving rise to a race-based system of exploitation and dehumanization. This system was further justified by Christian slaveholders who distorted Scripture to defend slavery, betraying both the gospel they professed and the God they claimed to serve.
Although slavery was formally abolished in 1865, its legacy endured through systems of disenfranchisement, economic exclusion, racial terror and legalized segregation. Black Americans faced voter suppression, restricted mobility, lack of access to capital, widespread violence, and the constant threat of terror — particularly in the South. Practices such as convict leasing, mass incarceration, and lynching reinforced a racial hierarchy enforced by law and violence. Policing in America emerged in part as a mechanism to control Black bodies, and this legacy continues to shape the criminal justice system today.
The brutal killing of George Floyd by a police officer served as a painful reminder of this long history of racialized violence. While such incidents now gain widespread attention through cell phone videos and social media, they are not new. For generations, similar abuses occurred in silence, often without accountability or justice.
Regarding solutions, I remain realistic — and even pessimistic — about the possibility of fully eradicating racism in this fallen world. Yet pessimism must never become passivity. The struggle for justice requires resilience, persistence, and collective action. Black Americans and their allies must continue to educate themselves, vote, protest, advocate for legal reform, build businesses, mentor youth, and strengthen community institutions. Through shared responsibility and disciplined engagement, we can work toward a more just and equitable society, even in the presence of enduring racism.
Faith has a crucial role to play in this struggle. Christians cannot remain silent in the face of systemic injustice. The biblical call to justice is inseparable from righteousness. To argue that Christians should stay out of social and political engagement is to ignore the tangible consequences of injustice — mass incarceration, economic inequality, inadequate housing and disenfranchisement. Jesus’ parable of the persistent widow and the unjust judge (Luke 18:1–8) calls believers to relentless pursuit of justice, even when the systems of power resist change.
Ultimately, God’s Word offers the only lasting antidote to the virus of racism. True and lasting transformation occurs when hearts are surrendered to the Holy Spirit and reshaped by God’s justice and love. Yet this spiritual reality does not absolve believers of responsibility; it commissions them. Christians are called to be agents of justice in the world, embodying God’s righteousness in both word and deed. As the prophet Amos declares, “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:24).
Trevor O’Reggio is chair of the Department of Church History at the Seventh-Day Adventist Theological Seminary at Andrews University, where he has taught since 1998.
The Student Movement is the official student newspaper of Andrews University. Opinions expressed in the Student Movement are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, Andrews University or the Seventh-day Adventist church.