Black women are deeply represented in public sector jobs across government, nonprofits, and social and human services. Yet many navigate systems that fail to account for the “double tax” of race and gender, often leaving Black women under-supported.
The Washington State Women’s Commission (WSWC) and Blacks United in Leadership & Diversity (BUILD) are collecting real stories to turn lived experience into practical guidance for change.
Take the survey by March 15: tiny.cc/zxwx001

PDF File: proclamation_-_black_history_month.pdf
PROCLAMATION - Black History Month 
WHEREAS, in the United States, chattel slavery lasted 246 years, from 1619 to 1865, throughout which an estimated 7 million Africans were transferred to America against their will and forced into a system of bondage and oppression; and

WHEREAS, knowledge of Black History is beneficial for current and future generations; and

WHEREAS, in 1926, Black author, editor and historian, Dr. Carter G. Woodson began Black History Month as a week-long program to encourage the study of African American history and the African diaspora, and

WHEREAS, Dr. Woodson is considered 'the father of Black History' and worked to preserve the often overlooked or suppressed history and contributions of African Americans, their indelible value and relevance to the progress of mankind; and

WHEREAS, 2026 marks the 100th anniversary of Black History Month; and

WHEREAS, first proposed as a month-long commemoration in February 1969, U.S. President Gerald Ford recognized Black History Month in 1976, urging that all Americans "seize the opportunity to honor the too-often neglected accomplishments of Black Americans in every area of endeavor throughout our history;" and

WHEREAS, Black History Month is an annual observance affirming the continued perseverance, community, pride, confidence, and enterprise of Black people;

NOW, THEREFORE, I, Bob Ferguson, governor of the state of Washington, do hereby proclaim February 2026 as

Black History Month

in Washington, and I urge all people in our state to join me in this special observance.
Signed this 28th day of January, 2026
Governor Bob Ferguson

Growing up in Tacoma, Washington, as the oldest of five children, my identity has always been shaped by a legacy larger than myself. My family’s history is rooted in community — in feeding it, serving it, and standing with it. My father owned Porters Place BBQ, a beacon in Tacoma until 2012. It wasn’t just a restaurant; it was a place where generations gathered, where people found comfort in food and in the warmth of our family. It was Black-owned, Black-built, and deeply rooted in the belief that community care is radical and revolutionary.

After my father passed, I returned from college to a Tacoma that had changed in many ways — gentrified, more polished on the surface, but still carrying the same spirit I knew as a child. It looked different, but it still felt like home. The echoes of my family’s legacy lived on, and I felt a responsibility to honor that legacy — not through BBQ, but through social work.

Today, I stand not behind a counter, but in community clinics, churches, meetings, and advocacy spaces — doing the same work my family taught me to do: to serve, to fight, to heal. I am a Black social worker, and I carry my parent’s voice in everything I do. They taught me that dignity matters. That showing up for people is the work. That feeding bodies and feeding souls are not so different after all.

But my path has not been easy. Being Black in the social work field — especially as a Black woman who also lives with a disability — has meant navigating a system that often tries to define me by what it misunderstands. During the height of COVID-19, I experienced racism in its most raw and violent forms: I had objects thrown at me. The police were called on me — not because I posed a threat, but because my presence in certain spaces as a disabled Black woman disrupted the narrow boxes people expect us to fit into.

​Instead, it became the fuel for a new chapter — one where I use my lived experience as expertise. Where I speak up for others who’ve been silenced or stereotyped. Where I create space for disabled, Black, educated professionals who are not anomalies, but part of a rich legacy of resilience. I do this work in a city that raised me, in memory of a father who poured love into ribs and cornbread, and in defiance of systems that once tried to erase me.
Now, I work for an agency that not only sees me but amplifies me. I'm part of programmatic and policy efforts that seek equity, not as a buzzword but as a practice. I get to help shape services that center clients' lived realities, advocate for anti-racist healthcare, and mentor the next generation of social workers — particularly those who’ve never seen themselves reflected in power before.

Now, I work for an agency that not only sees me but amplifies me. I'm part of programmatic and policy efforts that seek equity, not as a buzzword but as a practice. I get to help shape services that center clients' lived realities, advocate for anti-racist healthcare, and mentor the next generation of social workers — particularly those who’ve never seen themselves reflected in power before.
In many ways, I’ve learned that weaponizing memory is about more than remembering; it’s about using memory to build. It’s about reclaiming our family stories as roadmaps for the future. It’s about holding space for Black voices — past and present — so that we don’t just survive but lead.

Later, Woo had me laughing out loud and cheering for the couple when the slave catchers sent to return the Crafts to Georgia, and back to the bonds of slavery were thwarted by the courts, Craft's legal team, and a large crowd of protesters in the north disgusted with the institution in the south. Instead of apprehending the fugitive slaves, the slave catchers were themselves arrested, "Hughes and Knight were charged with slander for having called William Craft a slave and thus "causing damage to his business and character, and for carrying dangerous weapons with the intent to assault William." After they were let out on bail, "…new posters were made up to alert all of Boston. "SLAVE HUNTERS IN BOSTON!!!" the handbills screamed. They included unflattering physical descriptions of the Georgians, with the kinds of information about size and color usually found on public notices for escaped slaves." (pg. 230)
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Facing Uncertainty After a Stroke
When I emerged from a month-long hospital stay after I experienced a major stroke, I found myself uncertain of my new world and my place in it.
 
The world hadn’t changed, but I had. The uncertainty was about whether I could pick up the pieces and move on with my new brain injury-related disability.
 
You know that feeling when you walk into a room and realize you don’t remember why you walked in? After the massive stroke I experienced, I felt like I came to this planet, but couldn’t remember what for. It was very awkward and very unpleasant at times.
 
I wasn’t quite confident my new self could navigate through the old world where I had been quite comfortable with myself and my abilities. I was quite sure I could do it if I could just face the challenges to come with my old confidence and self-assurance.
 
But how was I ever going to do it in my new disabled state? After a short readjustment phase, I found the answer.
 
The Power of Acting Confident
I remembered the advice from my younger years that had served me well throughout my previous life, from a (then) well-known actor.
 
In an interview he was asked about overcoming stage fright and what he did to get over it. His answer was to just act like someone with confidence.
 
It sounded kind of simplistic, but that really struck a chord; it sounded right to me. I took that bit of wisdom to heart and ran with it. It got me through a lot of awkward situations.
 
And now here I was in one heck of an awkward situation, being a stroke survivor with an acquired traumatic brain injury.
 
Visualization and Self-Programming
I can tell you what I did, and that it worked for me (again). I can’t guarantee the same result for anybody else, but if I could do it, anybody should be able to.
 
I would lie in bed at night with my eyes closed and tell myself I would face the world with complete confidence, in all situations, and no matter what.
 
I would also visualize myself in different situations acting with complete confidence. I picked someone I admired and kind of “programmed” myself to behave in the manner he modeled. I couldn’t be him, so I had to come up with my version of how he behaved. I visualized carrying myself with confidence, poise, and self-deprecating humor.
 
I also visualized people telling me they had noticed how I approached situations with calm and poise. In my head I “overheard” people making comments about me in that vein.
 
I formed a kind of image in my head of coming off as smart, funny, approachable and fun to be around. I could do that, I thought; I could see a mental image of myself being that way. But I knew deep inside I would always basically be an introvert and still be living in my head.
 
Visualization and Self-Programming
I try to strike a balance between being bashful and socially confident: I learned all over again to be an extroverted introvert (psychologists call a person like this an ambivert).
 
In other words, though I was still often painfully introverted, I could be extroverted when the situation required it.
 
Before long, it was common for people to tell me that if they hadn’t already known I’d experienced a massive stroke, they would never have guessed it.
 
I would say that one of the most important things to remember about acting confidently is don’t overdo it; don’t overcompensate. And keep it realistic. Outwardly become the person that lives inside you—don’t try to be something you could never realistically hope to be.
 
Psychological Concepts on Confidence
That leads to two more concepts, both from psychology. They’re known as the Dunning-Kruger effect and impostor syndrome.
 
The Dunning-Kruger effect concerns how people rate their own competence. People with lower levels of competence often overestimate their competence, while highly competent people often  underestimate theirs. In my mind, the ones who overestimate themselves are likely more on the obnoxious end of the scale, while those who underestimate themselves tend to be more likely to lack confidence and hold themselves back.
 
The Dunning-Kruger effect has its critics, but I pretty much agree with the simplified interpretation I just laid down here. It just intuitively feels right to me.
 
The other concept is called the impostor syndrome.
 

But we exist and persist, because the alternative is unacceptable. We can reach out and provide comfort and strength, and in return be comforted and strengthened. We are largely in loose, informal networks, that, with the aid of the internet, allows our community to be international in scope.

The community includes people without traumatic brain injuries, too: caregivers, family members, friends. Anyone who helps a TBI survivor cope is part of the community.
There are meetings, large and small, formal and informal. There are local support groups and large gatherings, like the recent two-day Washington State conference which I attended. And there are a surprising number of agencies and organizations reaching out and touching the lives of people living with traumatic brain injury.

There are no membership rolls or dues. No one chooses to be part of the TBI community; we were brought together by an accident of fate. 

We are not seeking power. But we are seeking understanding, acceptance, autonomy and independence on our own individual terms. We help each other gain and maintain our dignity in a world that largely does not and cannot understand. There are no dogmas or manifestos; our only agenda is to live full, normal lives and fully realize our true potential.
We are joined together in a common cause and bound together by faith, united by hope for the future.

My personal experience in the community is that it’s very warm and welcoming. It’s been a group that encourages members to share their thoughts, hopes, fears, their challenges and triumphs, all without fear of being laughed at or marginalized. The sense of kinship and unconditional acceptance has been strong, and the feeling of strength and empowerment has been a lifesaver for me.

Here is a place where I feel confident baring my soul to like-minded people, all with a common purpose and shared hopes and dreams.
It has been a source of inspiration and support. The TBI community has helped me feel much less alone in the world and confident of my place in it.
I know I am not the only one who feels that way.

We are many and we are everywhere.
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