When I was asked to write this blog, I felt both honoured and thoughtful about what I could bring to a subject that matters so deeply.

The 2026 theme for Black History Month, “Honouring Our Communities,” urges us to be more intentional, aware and recognise not only well-known figures, but also the people whose everyday care, courage and service keep communities going.

In recent times, conversations about immigration, race, belonging and national identity has been shrunk into punchy slogans. These debates do not appear from nowhere. They are shaped by systemic racism and by colonised views of the world that have long decided whose voice carries authority, whose contribution is valued and who is made to feel that they belong. Concerns about borders, housing, public services and financial security are real and deserve to be heard, but we must also be honest about how inequality has been created and sustained. These concerns must not be used to divide neighbours or imply that some people belong less than others. When public debate becomes harsher, as leaders we have a choice- do we stoke the flames or are we bearers of light. Our role is to make room for honesty, hold the complexity and keep sight of the people behind the arguments.

I write this as an Indian immigrant and as a leader. My experience is not the Black British experience, and I would never pretend otherwise. For me, solidarity starts with listening and with recognising the particular history and continuing reality of anti-Black racism. Experiencing discrimination does not make our stories the same. However, Migration has taught me something lasting about belonging, it is not usually given to us all at once. We build it through relationships, contribution, memory and the kindness of people who make room for one another.

Whose stories do we honour?

This year’s theme asks us to look beyond the familiar names. Every day, we are witnessing history being shaped by countless small acts- the teaching assistant who sees something in a child others have missed, the social worker who stays alongside a family through its hardest days, the foster carer who offers safety, the nurse who protects someone’s dignity, and the youth worker, faith leader, volunteer, neighbour or parent whose steady presence changes a life. Black communities across Britain have supported and strengthened this country in many visible and less visible ways for generations including through the remarkable leadership of figures such as Claudia Jones, Paul Stephenson, Olive Morris, Lord Simon Woolley, Baroness Doreen Lawrence, Sir David Adjaye to name but a few. Honouring that contribution must mean more than saying thank you. It means listening to people’s wisdom, valuing their work properly and making sure race or postcode does not limit opportunity.

We often say that history is written by the winners. In reality, it is shaped by those with the power to decide which stories are recorded and repeated, and which are left at the edges. Honouring our communities means making room for the voices history has muted and facing truths that requires us to lean into discomfort. It is not about replacing one narrow account with another, but about telling a fuller story in which more of us can see ourselves.

The double bind of leading in colour

For leaders of colour, being visible can bring opportunity, but it can also bring added pressure. We may be expected to speak about race, then judged as biased when we do. We are encouraged to bring our whole selves to work, but sometimes only if the parts we bring do not make others uncomfortable. We may be expected to withstand racism and still name it gently. It is possible to be highly visible and still not feel heard, or to be celebrated as a sign of progress while continuing to feel that we must prove we belong. That is the tension- trying to lead honestly while navigating expectations and assumptions that are not applied equally.

I know some of this tension in my own leadership and in conversations with my peers of Black and Global Majority backgrounds. I have entered rooms aware that I may be seen not only as myself, but as representing a whole community. I have weighed up how honestly to speak about race and how that honesty might be received. I have also learned that visibility does not always bring influence, safety or a sense of belonging. Representation cannot simply mean putting a different face at the top. Organisations also need to ask whose leadership is trusted, whose mistakes are forgiven, whose voice carries weight and who is expected to do the work of change.

Choosing love

As we honour Black history and the communities shaping our shared future, I hope we do more than remember. I hope we see one another as people, not as arguments, labels or single stories. Those of us who lead have a responsibility to create spaces where people can speak honestly, where difference is met with curiosity rather than suspicion, and where no one feels they must make themselves smaller to be accepted.

Love is not an alternative to justice. It is what keeps justice rooted in people’s lives. It asks us to challenge harm, to keep reaching towards one another and to remember that none of us thrives alone. In divided times, listening, welcoming, speaking up and caring all matter. Belonging grows through those everyday choices, person by person and day by day.

“Do your little bit of good where you are; it’s those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world. We are made for goodness. We are made for love… We are made to tell the world that there are no outsiders.”

— Archbishop Desmond Tutu