A Journey Through National History Day: The Development of African American Literacy During Reconstruction

If you’d asked me at the beginning of the school year, “What will National History Day mean to you?” I might have answered something along the lines of: another month (okay, maybe longer) of history reading, another history paper to write, another display to create, and another project to present.

And I would have been completely, tragically mistaken.

My involvement with National History Day became one of the most significant educational experiences of eighth grade. It challenged me intellectually, tested my resilience, and completely reshaped the way I viewed history — not as a collection of names and dates, but as a powerful and enduring dialogue between the past and the present. This year’s theme of Revolution, Reaction, and Reform led me to a subject that I found simultaneously fascinating and deeply underrepresented: the development of literacy among African Americans during Reconstruction following the American Civil War.

At first glance, the topic may seem rather ordinary. However, as I immersed myself in the world of formerly enslaved African Americans and uncovered letters, newspaper articles, government records, and firsthand testimony, I came to understand that the simple act of reading and writing extended far beyond literacy itself. For those who had recently gained their freedom, learning to read represented autonomy, opportunity, and dignity. It symbolised self-realisation and embodied a profound belief that education could become the greatest weapon against generations of oppression.

The knowledge that a Black man or woman could read and write was a revolution in itself. Literacy opened the door to a world of unimaginable possibilities, allowing people to interpret words for themselves, form independent ideas, and participate fully in their own freedom. The more I researched, the more I realised that this was no longer simply an academic project. It had become a personal passion.

As my research continued, I discovered story after story of African American communities pooling together whatever resources they had to establish schools from almost nothing. I learned about Freedmen's Bureau agents and Black teachers who risked their lives to educate others despite constant threats of violence. At the same time, I uncovered the reactionary forces determined to destroy these efforts through intimidation, burned schoolhouses, and even murder. It quickly became clear that Reconstruction was not only a political struggle but also a battle over access to knowledge itself.

This journey through Reconstruction was never simply about collecting sources and arranging information onto display boards. Instead, it became an extensive process of refining, questioning, and improving every aspect of my project. Every decision — from the thesis statement to the captions, layout, and choice of evidence — had one purpose: to demonstrate that literacy empowered African Americans to resist racial oppression and reclaim their humanity. I spent weeks revising the thesis, rewriting captions, and redesigning the exhibit, often spending more time improving existing work than creating it in the first place.

On numerous occasions, I completely rebuilt sections of my display that had taken days to construct simply because I believed they could be stronger or more cohesive.

The work was undoubtedly grueling, but it was also incredibly rewarding. There was a deep sense of satisfaction in reaching each milestone, knowing that every revision brought me closer to producing something I was truly proud of. Along the way, I developed a level of perseverance that I had never expected from a history project.

Perhaps the greatest challenge, however, was preparing for the judges' interviews. Memorising facts was only the beginning. I had to explain every aspect of my project, justify every design decision, defend my conclusion that Black literacy empowered African Americans during Reconstruction, and explain exactly how I had analysed each primary source to reach that conclusion. Preparing for those interviews forced me to understand my topic on a far deeper level than I ever imagined.

Yet once the interviews actually began, my nervousness simply disappeared. By that point, the project had become so personal that speaking about it no longer felt like presenting an assignment—it felt like sharing something I genuinely cared about.

When the awards ceremony arrived, I was fortunate enough to place second in my preliminary group at the finals in the University of Maryland. I was incredibly proud of how far I had come, but if I'm honest, there was also disappointment. Second place meant I had fallen just one step short of advancing, and for a while, that was all I could think about.

In moments like these, it is easy to focus on what could have been. It is easy to see second place not as an achievement, but as evidence of falling just short of first.

But disappointment has a way of fading, and perspective eventually takes its place.

As time passed, I realised that National History Day was never truly about earning first place. It was about discovering stories that deserve to be told, learning how to think like a historian, and developing skills that extend far beyond a single competition. It taught me perseverance, critical thinking, and the importance of continually improving my work, even when it felt complete.

Most importantly, it reminded me that success is not always measured by rankings or medals. Sometimes, success is measured by how much you grow throughout the journey.

Looking back now, I am incredibly grateful for everything National History Day gave me. It introduced me to a remarkable chapter of history that I may never have explored otherwise, challenged me in ways I never expected, and showed me what it means to be truly passionate about learning. Whether or not I ever compete again, this experience is one that I will carry with me for years to come.