Black History Month Day 25: Media Shapes Who Is Believed

From the earliest days of American newspapers, Black people were either invisible or caricatured. Enslaved people were described as property. Reconstruction-era Black leaders were portrayed as corrupt or incompetent. During Jim Crow, headlines routinely reinforced fear, criminality, and inferiority. Even well into the 20th century, major outlets either minimized racial violence or justified it.

Visibility has always been political.

Who is interviewed. Whose photograph runs on the front page. Which words are chosen in a headline. Whether a story is framed as “urban unrest” or “a fight for civil rights.” These are not neutral decisions. They shape public perception before most people ever reach paragraph three.

Black history reminds us that who tells the story determines whose suffering is taken seriously. Whose humanity is centered. Whose deaths are explained away.

That legacy did not disappear with cable news or social media.

Even now, language shifts depending on race. Victims become suspects. Protesters become threats. Context disappears. A young Black man killed by police may have his past dissected in minute detail, while a white perpetrator of violence is described as troubled, isolated, or mentally unwell. Black children are described as “large for their age.” Black communities are described as “high crime areas” before any individual facts are examined.

Media does not just report reality—it frames it. And framing shapes policy, empathy, and action.

Consider recent examples. National coverage of mass shootings often differs sharply depending on the race of the suspect. When the perpetrator is white, there is extended discussion about mental health, online radicalization, or personal stress. When the suspect is Black, coverage frequently centers on criminal history, gang associations, or broader narratives about violence. The framing shifts public sympathy.

Or look at how protests are covered. In 2020, large racial justice demonstrations were often labeled “riots” before facts were clear, while other political gatherings in subsequent years were described as “passionate,” “rowdy,” or “concerned citizens.” Words matter. They set emotional tone.

And then there is the harm of silence.

There are stories that simply do not receive sustained coverage at all. Maternal mortality rates for Black women remain significantly higher than for white women in the United States, yet the crisis rarely leads national headlines. Environmental hazards disproportionately impacting Black neighborhoods often receive minimal follow-up reporting. When voting rights are restricted in ways that affect communities of color, coverage frequently frames it as “partisan dispute” rather than as a civil rights issue.

Lack of coverage is not neutral. It communicates that certain harms are ordinary. Expected. Unremarkable.

Even in disaster reporting, images selected for broadcast can subtly reinforce narratives about chaos or competence. During past hurricanes and crises, similar actions by residents were described differently depending on race. One group was “finding supplies.” Another was “looting.”

The pattern is not always overt. Often it is cumulative. A headline here. A descriptor there. An image choice. A quote selection. Over time, the frame hardens.

Black history teaches us that media narratives have justified everything from segregation to redlining to unequal sentencing. When coverage dehumanizes or distorts, policy follows. Public opinion follows. Indifference follows.

Truth requires more than coverage.

It requires honesty.

It requires interrogating language before publishing it. It requires asking whose voices are missing from a panel. It requires resisting shorthand stereotypes that are easy but harmful. It requires sustained attention, not momentary outrage.

Because media does not merely reflect society. It influences it.

And if visibility has always been political, then so is omission.

Black history is not only a record of oppression. It is also a record of resistance — including resistance to misrepresentation. Black-owned newspapers, radio stations, and journalists have long worked to correct narratives that mainstream outlets distorted or ignored.

The question remains urgent today: Who is telling the story? Who is centered? Who is dismissed?

Framing shapes empathy. Empathy shapes policy. Policy shapes lives.

Truth demands vigilance.

And honesty is not optional.

Julie Bolejack, MBA

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