What Freedom Asks of Education

In 1926, Carter G. Woodson established Negro History Week, intentionally placing it in February to honor the birthdates of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln.1 His aim was not celebration for its own sake, but correction. Black history had been omitted, distorted, or ignored, and education was the mechanism through which that erasure could be repaired. Fifty years later, during the nation's bicentennial in 1976, President Gerald R. Ford formally recognized Black History Month and urged Americans to “seize the opportunity to honor the too-often neglected accomplishments of Black Americans in every area of endeavor throughout our history.”2 His choice of the word seize mattered. It called for action, not acknowledgment. Engagement, not applause. Responsibility, not apology. As the nation approaches its 250th anniversary, we are no longer simply commemorating Black history. We are actively debating its place, its meaning, and even its legitimacy. The fragility of recognition mirrors the fragility of the democratic principles from which it emerged. Once again, we find ourselves wrestling with our collective commitment to freedom and to the promise of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all. Education sits squarely at the center of this struggle. Professional education, including physical therapy education, functions as a democratic site because it determines who gains access to opportunity, authority, and social mobility through human-made rules rather than natural law. What we teach, whom we admit, how we assess, and which pathways we protect or restrict are not neutral decisions. They shape whose lives expand and whose remain constrained. Before moving forward, it is worth pausing to recognize those who helped build the profession despite barriers deliberately placed in their path. Black physical therapists such as Theodore “Ted” Corbitt, clinician and advocate often called the father of American distance running; educator and leader Thelma Brown Pendleton; educator and civil rights activist Lynda Woodruff, PT, PhD, FAPTA; and educator Mary McKinney Edmonds, PT, DSc, PhD, FAPTA devoted their lives to service, scholarship, and advocacy. Their contributions were not inevitable. They were forged toward personal and professional freedom in systems that often resisted their presence. History reminds us that access to professional freedom has been conditional for some. Mary McMillan accepted her appointment as a reconstruction aide in the US military in 1918,3 yet the physical therapy profession did not formally open its doors to African Americans until 1943. That inclusion came through the Special Women's Medical Service Corps Program for African Americans at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, driven not by principle but by workforce necessity during segregation.4 Access followed interest convergence, not an enduring commitment to the public good. The physical therapy profession reflects the society in which it develops.5 We see moments of expansion without redesign, increases in professional status accompanied by narrowing pathways of access, and inclusion offered without the conditions necessary for belonging. Across decades, we have debated who belongs, when, and under what terms, often without changing the systems that determine outcomes of psychological safety and acceptance.6 In education, values become real only when they are translated into structures. Admissions criteria, curricula, assessments, mentoring models, and clinical pathways are not abstract. They decide who thrives, who struggles, and who leaves. Although professional mission statements often speak of advancing health and community, outcomes reveal whether those aspirations are being realized evenly or selectively. Belonging is not guaranteed by admission alone. It is shaped by psychological safety, recognition, and the freedom to learn without the constant threat of exclusion. Too often, our systems function like mirrors rather than doors. Mirrors reflect existing norms and reward resemblance, labeling those norms as neutral or merit-based. They feel affirming to those who already belong but offer little passage to those whose experiences, bodies, or ways of knowing fall outside the image the profession already recognizes. Educators hold extraordinary power in this process. We decide who enters a profession that offers more than technical preparation. Physical therapy provides pathways to economic stability, professional authority, and influence over the policies and practices that shape communities. Decisions about recruitment, admission, retention, and support carry both privilege and responsibility. As George Washington Carver reminded us, “Education is the key that unlocks the golden door to freedom.”7 But doors do not open on their own. They require intentional design and, at times, the courage to dismantle what obstructs the hinge. When outcomes persist, the science of teaching and learning is clear. Adaptation is required. Persistent disparities are not evidence of individual deficiency; they are diagnostic signals of misalignment between learners and systems. Failure to respond is not neutrality. It is ethical fading. If classrooms and clinical education environments continue to produce unequal outcomes for Black learners, educators must confront the possibility that we are not yet ready for practice as educators. Education is our field of expertise and our ethical laboratory. We cannot claim scientific rigor while ignoring consistent results. The next chapter of our profession will be shaped not only by what we celebrate, but by what we are finally willing to examine. Bessie Blount Griffin, another mother of the profession, physiotherapist, forensic scientist, and inventor, once asked a deceptively simple question: “Does science have a color?” If we believe the answer is no, then we must apply the science of learning to the development of all learners, not only those who most closely resemble the past. Recent work, including Beyond Scarcity: Reimagining an Abundant Future for Physical Therapist Education, offers practical guidance for moving from scarcity-driven models toward systems designed for abundance, adaptability, and shared flourishing.8 The tools exist. The evidence exists. What remains is will. At this moment in history, the question before us is not whether we value education, history, or inclusion in principle. The question is whether we are willing to seize the opportunity to align our professional practices with the ethical and scientific commitments we claim to hold. Will we continue to offer mirrors, or will we finally open doors? Freedom is waiting. The hinge is ours to move.